


Star Crossed Lovers

by Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar



Category: Something Rotten! - Kirkpatrick/Kirkpatrick/O'Farrell
Genre: And they put that on their little siblings because they can't deal with their emotions, Family suck, M/M, Nick is a mess, Richard Shakespeare was a real man, Will is a Mess, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-08-31 12:18:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8578294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar/pseuds/Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar
Summary: See title or: overprotective brothers who hold grudges.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In real life, Richard was the second youngest Shakespeare child. He was 10 years younger than William Shakespeare, putting him at about the same age as Nigel in this fic. William Shakespeare was the first child to survive infancy, therefore making him the older sibling of four brothers and one sister (who would not live past the age of 8), and the younger brother of two sisters who died years before his birth.

Nigel, mindlessly walking through the studios’ lobby with his nose in his notebook and phone, was bound to walk into someone. Nick had told him countless times to watch where he was going. But Nigel never listened.

“Oh god! I’m sorry!”

He scrambled to pick up his papers and fallen cell phone.

“No, I’m sorry!”

Nigel looked up to the man helping him gather his writing. He had the most beautiful brown eyes. The way the light him them made them sparkle like gems in the Queen’s crown. His auburn hair had gentle waves and no stray strands sticking out. His jaw was perfectly shaped and strong. He must have been a businessman or a lawyer, for his well-built physique was clad in a suit no one would wear for a day of work in a theatre studio, and a briefcase hung from his shoulder. He smiled apologetically, and it was nearly blinding.

Nigel should have ignored Nick’s warnings a lot earlier. He had always believed in love at first sight, but he never had experienced it first hand. It was his dream to, and he thought that just maybe it was his lucky day.

“It’s my fault. Really,” the man said. “I was staring at my phone.”

Nigel was speechless.

The man handed the last of the papers over and grabbed his own cell phone.

“Are you a writer?” he asked.

“Y-Yeah.”

The man stood. Nigel supposed it would be appropriate for him to do the same.

“My brother is a writer,” the man said. “I’m here to visit him while he does workshops this week and help him run some errands.”

Nigel nodded. The man, without a response from him, awkwardly looked to the floor.

“I’m rambling… uh… sorry, again. I’ll be on my way…”

He stepped around Nigel. Nigel, realizing what was going to happen and being way too romantic to possibly lose the chance to ever see his potential soulmate again, spoke up.

“My name is Nigel! Nigel Bottom.”

The man turned around. “I’m Richard.”

“It… was nice to meet you.”

Richard laughed. Nigel’s heart stopped. He feared being visibly flustered, but he knew his cheeks were as red as cherries.

“Maybe I should run into people more often,” Richard said. “If they’re all as friendly as you.”

Nigel didn’t know what shade was brighter than cherry, but he was sure his cheeks mimicked it.

“You’re the friendly one,” he said.

Richard smiled and turned away again. Nigel sighed and didn’t stop him. 

* * *

“I wrote down some new ideas. I was thinking we could do another historical play; maybe about Genghis Khan or Napoleon or Julius Caesar or someone else that had a sort of folly with power and control.”

The small studio was nearly empty despite most of their acting troupe present. As their plays had been less and less successful, they had been losing more and more actors.

Nick sat at a table, listening to Nigel’s rambling.

“I was doing research this morning,” Nigel went on, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “And really I think that doing Julius Caesar would be interesting. He was literally stabbed in the back!”

“A play about a Roman Emperor? Who would want to see that?”

“Everyone if we write it well enough. Here. Just read his wikipedia page.”

Nigel began to unlock his phone but froze. He stared at the generic picture preset as the lock screen and the request for a password. He didn’t have a password. It wasn’t his screen. It wasn’t his phone.

“What’s wrong?” Nick asked.

Nigel threw his head back and groaned. “I ran into someone in the lobby, and we must have gotten our phones mixed up.”

His soulmate probably thought he was theif. Great. What a great way to be remembered.

“Call your phone. See if they pick up,” Nick said.

Nigel groaned again and swiped up for the emergency call screen. He punched in his number as Nick stood and walked to the troupe. Nigel listened to the ringing, heart pounding. He held his breath. What would he say? How would he explain himself?

There was no answer.

What if his soulmate was the thief? What if his phone and Richard were gone forever?

“Will you stop making those noises?” Nick shouted from across the room when he groaned again.

Nigel didn’t want to stop, but Nick was giving him a dirty look and since they still lived together, Nigel didn’t want to test him. He began entering his number again.

There was a knock at the door. Nigel held back another groan. Who was interrupting them now? A producer who demanded to see progress most likely. The door creaked open.

“Hello?”

Relief and anxiety came crashing down on Nigel. It was Richard. Beautiful, perfect Richard. He peaked his head in and looked around until his eyes landed on Nigel.

“I asked the secretary if a Nigel Bottom was renting out a room. Luckily, there’s apparently only one of you in this building,” Richard said, walking in. “We, uh, have the wrong phones.”

“We do,” Nigel said. He quickly thrusted the phone out to Richard. “Sorry.”

“Oh, it’s my fault, too.”

Richard took his phone and handed Nigel’s back. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I put my number in there.”

Nigel almost dropped his phone. “Oh! I don’t mind at all. I appreciate it.”

Richard smiled. “Just make sure you put it to good use. And, well, I’ll be right upstairs this week, so if you want to do lunch sometime… just text me, and I’ll tell you the room number.”

Nigel could have puked. “That sounds great!”

Richard’s cheeks were becoming a light tint of pink. “Great!”

They stared at each other for a moment, then quickly averted their eyes to the floor.

“I’ll see you later, then,” Nigel said.

“Yeah. I’ll… see you later.”

Richard turned on his heel and rushed for the door. Nigel sighed and a grin spread across his face. It took a second to realize the room was silent. He turned around.

Nick was smirking.

“Did you just get a date?” he asked.

“Uh… I-I don’t know. I don’t know if it could be called a date. It’s lunch. Maybe. It’s not –”

“It’s a date,” Nick said.

The troupe began excitedly talking and giving Nigel sappy looks.

“My baby brother has a date!” Nick cried out in feigned affection, holding his hands to his chest.

“It’s not a date! It’s just lunch. It’s not that big of deal.”

“I saw the way you were looking at him. It is a big deal.”

Nigel crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders. “Don’t we have work to do?”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Okay. Fine. Nigel wants us to get back to work.”

A voice piped up from the back. “He wants to get done faster so he can go on his date.”

Laughter erupted. Nick quieted them down though he was laughing as well.

Nigel sat in his chair and opened his notebook. He scowled at it as Nick began rehearsal.

* * *

It took Nigel two days to finally text Richard. When he did, it was early in the morning when he was alone in the studio. As soon as he hit send, he slid his phone away and tried to ignore it.

Nick walked in with two cups of coffee and his usual morning pout. He handed Nigel’s coffee to him (it barely constituted as coffee to Nick, who constantly complained of Nigel’s usual order of half the cup being filled with creamer and sugar) and took a seat.

“What are we doing again?” Nick asked.

“We have to sort out the second act. It isn’t working out.”

Nigel loved weekend morning sessions. He always felt more productive when he got up with the sun and spent the first half of the day with his brother. Nick, on the other hand, despised waking up early – especially on weekends. If he could, every rehearsal would start at noon.

“What are we going to do for lunch if we’re not finished by then? Order something for here?” he asked, opening his laptop.

Nigel’s phone buzzed. He grabbed it and opened the new text.

“I have plans for lunch actually.” 

* * *

Nigel nervously stood in front of the studio door. He could hear a lot of commotion coming from the other side. It was a bigger studio. It must have been a big production, maybe even written and produced by a big name. Nigel hadn’t heard about anyone well-known renting it, but maybe it was being kept a secret.

After five minutes of stalling, Nigel knocked. He could have walked in, he supposed, but he didn’t want to be rude and hoped for the small chance that no one would and answer, and he could go home and hide.

The door opened. Richard came out. Nigel wrung his hands together.

“Hi!” Richard said.

He wasn’t wearing a suit. Instead, he wore jeans and a sweater – much like Nigel, only Nigel’s sweater was about a size too big (both for comfort and because clothes didn’t typically fit well to Nigel’s awkward body) while Richard’s seemed to fit perfectly.

“Hi!”

“Ready to go?”

Nigel nodded.

“Great. You know, this cafe is really the best in the city. I love it. My brother and I go every time I visit London.”

“Oh. You’re not from here?”

Richard shook his head. “One day I might move here, but for now I’m still in my home village. I end up in London enough for work, though.”

“What do you do?”

“I help run my family’s business and a few others back home, and I help my brother out with the business side of his writing. I go to a lot of meetings for other people basically.”

“That’s neat.”

“I guess.”

They walked through the halls, settling into an awkward silence. Once they made it to the busy street, Richard started the conversation again.

“So, why were working on a Saturday morning?” Richard asked.

“My brother and I are working on a new play. We don’t really have a solid act two yet.”

Richard tilted his head. “Are all playwrights workaholics?”

“What?”

“It’s just… my brother does the same thing. He’ll work all weekend. He never takes a day off.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know. I don’t think you can ever take a day off as a writer. It’s more of a passion than a job.”

Richard chuckled. “I never understood writing. I didn’t do well with it in school, and it’s always felt like a chore. Actually, my brother calls it a chore. He used to love it, but now I think there’s too much pressure.”

Nigel wanted to ask who his brother was, but he didn’t want to pry. He didn’t understand casual lunch date conversation.

“He isn’t even in the studio this morning,” Richard added. “He stayed home to write.”

“That’s what I do sometimes,” Nigel said. “I usually do most of the writing. My brother does more of the directing and acting.”

“Do you act?”

“Not really. I’ve never done any major roles. I really prefer writing and staying behind the curtain.”

“I’m sure you’re a fantastic actor.”

“Oh, not really.”

Richard turned to him and smiled. “Don’t doubt yourself. Give yourself some credit.”

Nigel’s stomach churned. They reached the cafe, and Richard held open the door. Nigel had never had anyone open the door for him. 

* * *

Nigel and Richard were laughing on the way back to the studios. Richard opened the door again for Nigel to step into the lobby. Over lunch, Nigel’s butterflies left, and he became more comfortable than what he usually was around other people.

They walked to Richard’s brother’s studio, and Nigel shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Thank you for lunch,” he said.

“It was my pleasure,” Richard said. “I’d love to go out again some other time. I’m in London for the rest of the week.”

“Is asking for tomorrow too forward?” Nigel smiled.

“I don’t think so.”

They stood in silence. Nigel wondered if Richard was going to say anything else or if he could make himself grow balls in the next minute.

Down the hall, Nigel saw Nick walk toward them with a small stack of papers.

“Oh, that’s my brother,” he said.

Richard turned around.

“Back finally?” Nick asked.

“Yes,” Nigel said. He bounced on the balls of his feet. It wasn’t really the ideal time for Nick to meet his date. He was hoping for a few more successful meals. “This is Richard. Richard, this is Nick.”

Nick smiled and offered a hand. Richard took it.

“It’s nice to meet you. Nigel talked about you a lot over lunch.”

“Oh, did he?” Nick asked with a smirk.

“You talked about your brother a lot, too,” Nigel said.

Richard sighed and smiled. “We were talking about playwrights, and my brother is a playwright. It was relevant.”

“Well, then, my brother was relevant, too.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “I’ll leave you two alone. But Nigel, we still have a lot of work to do, and I don’t want to work on a Sunday.” He held up the papers, copies of scripts Nick must have just made. “I can only give the cast half the play at this point.”

The studio door opened suddenly. Actors began filing out with their bags, making Nick and Nigel and Richard stand to the side.

“Oh, they’re done for the day,” Richard said. “I wonder if my brother ever showed up.”

“Who’s your brother?” Nick asked.

At the end of the mass of people, there was a familiar voice coming closer. “I’ll have to rewrite it this week. I wouldn’t want my name associated with that last scene…”

Nigel smiled and held his breath. Walking out of the doors was William Shakespeare – the man Nigel admired more than anyone in the world. He had only dreamed of meeting him, and now the resemblance between him and Richard was striking. He couldn’t believe it. Ever since he was a kid, he had heard all about William Shakespeare – mostly from Nick, who…

Nigel’s smile faded, and his heart dropped. He turned around. Nick was glaring.

“Ah, Ritchie, finally back I see,” Will said, seeming to overlook Nigel and Nick.

“I was at lunch,” Richard said. “With Nigel.”

He nudged Nigel’s hand and smiled. Will finally looked to Nigel, eyes widening and briefly gazing past him to Nick.

“The young Bottom!” he said, grinning. “We finally meet!”

He reached out and cupped Nigel’s face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. Nigel’s heart pounded as a mix of emotions swirled in his stomach and stole his breath.

“Do you two know each other?” Richard asked.

Nigel was suddenly yanked back.

“Hello, Nick!” Will said, smile turning smug. “Long time no see.”

“What are you doing here, Will?” Nick asked, pulling Nigel farther away. “Don’t you usually rent the more luxurious studios across town?”

“I thought I’d return to my roots. Besides, the studios across town aren’t nearly big enough for my next play. These may be drab, but they have the space I need.”

“Oh, big cast?”

“Big cast. Big sets. Everything about this is big.”

“Did you steal this one, too?”

“Nick!” Nigel shouted.

He and Richard looked at their brother’s in disbelief. Nigel was saddened to see Richard give a dirty look to Nick.

“There you go again!” Will said, throwing his head back, laughing. “Thinking I’m a thief.”

“Will,” Richard mumbled. “How do you two know each other?”

Will put a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “We used to work together. Before Nicky here kicked me out of the troupe.”

“Because you can’t act,” Nick said. “You were holding everyone else back.”

Will no longer smiled. He took a step forward. He was just tall enough (and his boots had just a high enough heel) to tower over Nick.

“Nigel,” Nick said, sounding far too calm and therefore, scary. “You’re not seeing Richard again.”

“Nick!”

“Same goes for you, Richard,” Will said. “There’s no way I’ll let you around Nick Bottom’s influence.”

“But Will, you can’t do that!”

“Let’s go,” Nick said, grabbing Nigel by the arm and dragging him away.

Nigel looked back to see Will quietly berating Richard, who was too busy watching Nigel be pulled down the hall to listen. Will took Richard’s chin in his hands and forced him to look away. Nick tugged Nigel around a corner.

Nigel wanted to scream and punch and run back to Richard’s side. He wanted to fight and take Richard away from Will so they could be free to date however they wanted. He wanted to run out of the studio. He wanted to run away.

But he stayed.

He slumped in his chair. He wrote. He pleased Nick. He went home. And they never spoke of Richard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A link to Shakespeare's siblings is the x in the beginning. I recommend reading it. It's really interesting.

[[x]](http://www.literarygenius.info/brothers-sisters-william-shakespeare.htm)

The food wasn’t appealing to Nigel that night. He usually loved Bea’s cooking, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat it. It would only get stuck in his throat, and when it would finally slid down, it would feel like he had swallowed cement. It would sit like a rock in his stomach and be too heavy and he would probably puke it back up later. 

“Is something wrong?” 

He looked up to Bea and Nick. Bea’s eyebrows were raised in concern. Nick seemed to know what was wrong and huffed in mild annoyance. 

“Everything’s fine,” Nigel said, smiling. 

“You haven’t touched your dinner,” Bea said. “Are you feeling okay?”

Bea knew all too well that Nigel never turned down a meal. Part of it was due to what Nick called a “superhuman metabolism”, and part of it was due to his childhood habit of eating whenever he could because there was never a guarantee of another meal in that same day. So when Nigel didn’t eat, Bea knew something had to be wrong. 

“I’m just not hungry.”

Bea caught Nigel’s nervous gaze to Nick. She crossed her arms and sighed. 

“What’s going on, you two?” she asked. “Are you fighting again?”

“No,” Nigel said.

“Everything’s fine,” Nick said. “Like Nige said.”

Nigel looked down to his plate and picked at his pile of mashed potatoes with his fork. He wanted to tell Bea everything. She would side with him. She never liked Nick’s ongoing squabble with Will. Nick’s long rants were always met with an eye-roll from her. 

“So, how were your days? Did you get the play finished?” Bea asked. 

“We did!” Nick said. Nigel kept his head down, and he could tell Nick was smiling. “Nigel did a good job with act two.”

“That’s wonderful,” Bea said. “Though, not surprising. But Nige, Nick said you had a little lunch date today. What --”

Nigel’s fork clattered to his plate. He looked up slightly alarmed. Bea grimaced. 

“It didn’t go well?” she asked. 

“Ask Nick,” Nigel mumbled.

Nick glared. Nigel’s chest tightened. He figured that Nigel wasn’t really mad at him, but the dirty look still set him on edge.

“Did you ruin it for him?” Bea asked Nick, her tone sounding warning. 

“I did not --”

“You did, too!” Nigel didn’t mean to yell.

“Nigel, we’re not having this conversation,” Nick said.

“Why not? You can’t just boss me around and tell me who I can and can’t date.”

“You can date anyone except a Shakespeare.”

“What?” Bea asked. 

“I can date a Shakespeare if I want to! Your grudge shouldn’t have anything to do with me! Just because you were in a fight with some guy years ago doesn’t mean that  _ I  _ have to suffer!”

“Please, you had one lunch date with this man. You don’t know him.”

“Neither do you!”

“Hey!” Bea shouted. “Both of you, knock it off. Nigel, what the hell is going on?”

“Nick isn’t letting me see William Shakespeare’s brother.”

“Why not?” Bea asked Nick. 

“He knows how Will is. He’s an ass. I doubt his brother is any better.”

“You don’t know that!” Nigel said. “Stop thinking you know everything.”

“Nigel, calm down,” Bea said. 

“Go to your room!” Nick shouted.

“What? You can’t send me to my room! I’m not a child!”

“Then stop acting like one. Go to your room. I don’t want to see you again tonight.”

Nigel glared with all the meager spite he had for a moment before standing and storming off to his room. He slammed the door and hopelessly stood in the middle of the room. 

He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to leave, but there was no where to go. Nowhere in London would make him feel better. The city wouldn’t feel right. 

Nigel dropped on his bed, burying his face in his pillow. 

What he really missed was Cornwall. Cornwall was filled with good memories. 

And bad memories. Really bad memories. 

Nigel curled up as tight as he could.   

* * *

 

Richard’s stomach churned as he poked at his Chinese takeout. 

“You’re not eating,” Will said. 

Richard shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”

“Why not?” 

Will put down his chopsticks and reached across the sofa to press his hand against Richard’s forehead. Richard pulled away. 

“Don’t, Will. Save that for mother.”

“Then eat,” Will said with a smirk. “And I don’t have to be her.”

Richard tried smiling. It was silent for a moment before he put his carton down on the coffee table.

“We need to talk,” he said. 

Will raised an eyebrow. “About?”

“I… I didn’t know Nigel Bottom was related to  _ that  _ Bottom.”

Will pressed his lips together. 

“And I don’t want to hurt you, Will. You know that. But I don’t think it’s fair. I should be able to date who I want. I’m an adult. Nigel is nice --”

“I have no doubts that Nigel is nice. But Nick Bottom is a foul man. I don’t want you around that family.”

Richard looked away. 

“Hey,” Will said, nudging his leg. “It was one date. It’s not like you two had a relationship in full bloom.”

Richard shrugged. “I guess… But I like him. I’d like to see him again.”

“Ritchie, even if I allowed it, his brother wouldn’t. There’s plenty of other men out there, and you’re a real catch. You won’t have trouble finding anyone new. I’m sorry, but I’m looking out for you.”

Richard nodded. He couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat. He didn’t want anyone new. He wanted Nigel. Even if it was just for a few more dates.

* * *

 

Nigel had lost track of time. He was boiling with rage in his room. The lights were off, and he had pretended to be asleep when Bea had cracked open the door earlier. He didn’t want to hear anything from her. He usually found the utmost comfort in her words, but that night he just needed to be alone. 

His mind was racing with thoughts about Richard. He had never met anyone so nice and beautiful and wonderful to talk to. Richard was the most amazing man Nigel had ever fallen for, and he hadn’t fallen for that many men. 

But Nick had to ruin it. He was so stubborn and insufferable. He was intransigent about everything Shakespeare. Nigel had never felt so angry towards his brother. Except for maybe once as a kid when Nick dismissed one of his first poems. Nick had always been the same man. And he wasn’t going to change any time soon and he wasn’t going to let Nigel date Richard and he wasn’t ever going to let Nigel have any say in his own life.

* * *

 

Richard furiously typed on his laptop. He had to keep himself occupied until he could be alone -- which he thought would be easy in such a big house. But Will was such a mother figure and always wanted to make sure his little siblings hadn’t suddenly dropped dead. 

“Don’t work too late. I’m off to bed,” Will finally said around midnight, placing a kiss on the top of Richard’s head. 

Richard still smiled. His love for Will was never going to change no matter how annoying he was.

“Says you,” Richard said. 

Will scoffed. “I want you to be better than me.”

“Fine. I’m going to bed soon -- but at my own volition.”

“You’re so stubborn. You’re my only little sibling so stubborn. Be more like Ed. He always listens to me.”

“Ed is an outlier.”

“How so?”

“Well, he’s still practically a kid, and you’re the only person he ever listened to. He’s autistic, Will. He’s selective and attached.”

“That’s true, and he’s my favorite little brother.”

“Well, Gilbert is my favorite older brother. He’s not so bossy.”

Will smirked. “Gilbert would have killed you all if he was ever left in charge. He never watched any of you close enough.”

“You hover.”

“Would you rather have me hover or you be dead because Joan helped you hide in the washing machine during a game of hide and seek.”

Richard shrugged. He only vaguely remembered being little and having Joan tuck him inside the machine, and Will pulling him out moments later. 

Will turned away and walked from the room. 

“Don’t stay up too late,” he said over his shoulder. 

“I won’t,” Richard mumbled. 

As soon as he heard Will’s bedroom door close, he grabbed his phone.

* * *

 

Nigel was falling asleep when his phone chirped. He considered not looking at the notification. He didn’t want to talk to anyone for as long as he lived. He just wanted to sleep forever. But he reached over to his nightstand and looked into the blinding light of his screen. He sat up when he saw Richard’s name. Quickly, he opened the text, fearing the worst but also hoping for the best.

_ Sorry about today. I tried talking to Will about it. He didn’t listen (as brothers do). I say fuck it tho. Let’s meet again sometime. I really liked seeing you today. :) _

Nigel smiled. His thumbs flew over his screen as he typed his response. 

_ Let’s totally do it!!! They can’t tell us what to do if we’re adults. Who cares if they hate each other? _

A response came soon. 

_ Will should know from his plays that lovers shouldn’t kept apart because of dumb family feuds.  _

Nigel started writing his reply when a second text from Richard came. 

_ We should meet tonight. Right now. Will already went to bed.  _

Nigel’s heart thudded. He almost said no, but then he smiled and grabbed his coat while writing his reply. 

_ Meet me at the Mayflower Pub. I’ll be there real soon.  _

Richard’s response came right as Nigel slid out the front door. 

_ On my way :) _


	3. Chapter 3

Nigel would never admit to anyone that he giggled when he saw Richard walk into the bar. The bigger men who sat next to him at the bar would definitely say otherwise, but the scrawny 26 year-old with a glass of white wine in front of him would swear on his grave that he did not.

“Hi!” Richard took a seat next to him. 

The rebellious and romantic feelings bubbled up in Nigel’s chest, and mixed with the wine, he was beginning to feel giddy with intoxication. Richard looked amazing still. The long hours since they had last seen each other had done nothing to wear him down. 

“I’ll have a brandy. Straight up,” he said when the bartender approached. “Thanks.”

He flashed an amazing smile to the little blonde girl that made Nigel’s heart melt. 

“I’m so happy we decided to do this,” Nigel said. 

“We just have to sneak around,” Richard said with a shrug. “It’ll be like when I was in the closet in school.”

“I don’t really know how to do that. I was never really in the closet,” Nigel said. “I was apparently always gay. That’s what Nick said. I guess I was just flamboyant and really into poetry as a kid, and he’s mildly offensive. But I never really hid anything.”

“Lucky. I went through so much anxiety when I was younger. I came out to Will last. He was… more than accepting.”

“That’s good!”

“Umm…” Richard chuckled and looked down at the tumbler of brandy as it was placed in front of him. “He was really determined to find me a boyfriend after that, though.”

“Oh. Smothering?”

“Yeah. And then I came out to my parents, and they made a big deal out of making sure I was still loved and accepted. It was bit much. I appreciated it and was thankful, but I just didn’t want it to be a big deal.”

“I told Nick one day that I was seeing a boy in my chemistry class, and he told me that that was fine but that I was going to be late for school if I didn’t hurry up.”

“That’s cute. Did you end up being late?”

“I was almost always late to school. I got distracted on the way.”

Richard took a sip of his drink. “Is that a poet thing? Will gets distracted.”

“Probably. Nick never gets distracted. He’s very… business. He has a one-track mind. But, he’s also not much of a poet.”

“Will has a twenty-track mind. I know he acts like he has it all together, but watching him write is an experience. Sometimes he gets too drunk to continue.”

Richard laughed. Neither of them spoke for a minute. The background noise took care of filling the silence. It was a little too impersonal for deep conversation. 

“I’ve never been here before,” Richard finally said. 

“I’ve been a couple of times. I don’t drink much.”

“Neither do I. I usually leave that to my older brothers. But, are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Great! I am, too.”   


* * *

 

The restaurant closed soon after they finished their late dinner. They were the last ones to step out, smiling apologetically at the staff as they began cleaning up. 

“Where to now?” Richard asked. 

The air was nippy and chilled Nigel’s lungs. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “What do you want to do?”

“Anything that’s inside.” A puff of breath fogged around Richard’s mouth when he chuckled. “If it’s okay with you, I’d rather not wander around London. It’s a bit too cold for that.”

“We’ll go inside! We just have to think of somewhere to go.”

The streets were mostly empty. People walked down the sidewalk, leaving and entering bars. Some cars drove past them. But the streets were mostly silent at 1 am. Nigel adored the night in London. It was still fairly busy, but not hectic like it was during the day. It wasn't exactly safe, but he didn't feel incredibly threatened. The lights of the city replaced the stars and welcomed tourists and Londoners into various businesses. Nigel usually stayed away from it all, though. He knew his little places to go when it got late. There were cafes, diners, and bookstores. 

Nigel gasped and grabbed Richard’s hand. He pulled him towards the curb and stepped out, raising an arm.

“Where are we going?” Richard asked. 

“To the studio. No one will be there, but I have keys.”

A cab pulled over to them. Nigel opened the door for Richard, who climbed in with a look of mild disgust. Nigel knew there weren’t many cabs in the village of Stratford-Upon-Avon, and what cab Richard may have taken back home was nothing compared to the shifty cabs he had to take in London.

“Why are we going to the studio?” Richard asked once Nigel gave the man the address. 

“It’s quiet. And there’s an amazing view of London from the third floor.”

Richard smiled. “I’m trusting you, Nigel.”

“You can always trust me, Ritchie.”

They watched the city go by. Drunk people were starting to make fools of themselves, and homeless people were starting to find shelter for the night. The city was not as perfect and pristine as everyone made it out to be. 

Richard slipped his hand into Nigel’s. Neither of them said anything about it, but Nigel’s cheeks heated up, and he smiled.

The ride wasn’t long. The building looked ominous with no lights and hardly any people walking by. Nigel shoved money into the driver’s hand and slid out, tugging Richard along. 

They were silent on the way up the stairs and through the dark halls. 

“I think this is how people get murdered,” Richard whispered. 

Nigel hushed him and opened the doors to the room he and Nigel were renting. 

It was flooded in moonlight. The hardwood floors and walls were turned almost blue. It was soft and… romantic. It looked completely different than it did during the day under harsh fluorescent light and filled with actors. 

“Come here,” Nigel said, quietly, so he wouldn’t disturb the peace of the room. 

He lead Richard to one of the windows. 

They could see almost the whole city in the distance. The London eye was small, but bright against the dark sky. They could see the small buildings light up and the homes go dark. 

“I love this city,” Richard breathed.

“Then don’t leave,” said Nigel. 

They knew that regardless of the amount they snuck around, they would have to be separated soon when Richard went back to Stratford-Upon-Avon. Nigel tried not to think about the end and did his best to enjoy the middle.

Richard looked at him and pulled away from the window. 

“Will would kill me if he knew I was here,” he said, sitting against the adjacent wall. “I'm in enemy territory now.”

Nigel sat next to him, pulling his knees to his chest. “Nick would kill me, too.”

“God, they’re both so fucking stubborn.” Richard shook his head. “Especially Will. My entire life, he’s been setting rules for me. He’s so infuriating sometimes, you know? He thinks he’s our mother, and coddles me and… he doesn’t let me breathe when we’re together. I love him, and I love seeing him, but I need to get away from him sometimes. Whenever we see each other, he puts on this whole persona. I know that he can be… narcissistic and cocky. I know he drinks and parties too much. But whenever we’re together, he acts like the whole ‘greatest playwright in England’ thing doesn’t get to him. He acts like the little boy in the village. Always protective of his siblings, and his first priority is family. 

“I don’t think Will is really  _ that  _ cocky.”

Richard furrowed his eyebrows together. “He’s not really the egotistical person your brother thinks he is. He  _ can  _ be a bit obnoxious but never around our family. I think we humble him.”

Nigel smiled. “That’s so sweet.”

“No, it isn’t. Not really. I hear people complain about him a lot, and he burns a lot of bridges, and I know that’s not like him. He is so obsessed with this perfect image of himself that the public will see.”

“At least you know the real him. And at least he’s not like my brother. Nick’s stubborn and short-tempered all the way through. He doesn’t change when he’s around me.”

“He raised you, right? That’s what you said?”

Nigel nodded. “Did Will raise you?”

“Oh, no. He didn’t. Our parents just had their hands full. Will was the oldest, so he was put on babysitting duty all the time. He was really protective of us. Especially of our youngest brother, Ed. He’s autistic, and he was a  _ really  _ big handful when he was a kid. But Will is 14 years older than him, and he was the only one who could really connect with him for a while. The only problem is he got a little too defensive of Ed and ended up coddling him. But everything is okay now. Ed learned to be independent.”

“Nick never coddled me. I think he was always too stressed out to coddle me. He grew up too fast.”

Nigel stretched his legs out, and Richard tangled his together with them. Nigel smiled despite the sad memories. 

“He had to fill in for our parents when we were both too young,” he went on. “And I think he did his best to make sure I didn’t feel any pressure to grow up, but there were moments when we both had to work together to fill in for our parents.”

Nigel remembered the days of Nick crying because he didn’t feel like he was good enough, and he just really wanted their mom and dad back. Nigel would curl up to him and do his best to comfort him without crying himself. It sometimes worked. Other times, Nick would just exhaust himself and fall asleep. 

“That’s rough,” Richard said. “At least you came out alright.”

Nigel nodded. He didn’t think constant anxiety and occasional depression and mild separation anxiety constituted as “alright”, but he didn’t think that was a topic for that night. 

“You came out pretty good, too” he said. 

“Thanks.”

They both giggled like school boys, shaking their heads at their own ridiculousness. 

“We’re adults, and we’re sneaking around,” Nigel said. 

Richard shrugged. “Some people need to go to extreme measures when their families are feuding.”

Nigel inched a little closer until their shoulders touched. They were quiet, enjoying the calm of the isolated room where no one could bother them or boss them around. 

Nigel leaned his head against Richard’s, holding his breath and waiting for a reaction. Richard leaned into him, and Nigel closed his eyes.

* * *

 

Nigel didn’t wake up until noon. He shuffled into the kitchen with a reminiscent feeling of warmth and comfort. 

“Well, good afternoon,” Nick said. 

“Hey.”

Nick sat down at the kitchen table and smirked at Nigel as he made a bowl of cereal.

“Sleep well?” Nick asked. 

“I did.”

“I heard you leave pretty late last night.”

“Yeah, I left around midnight. I didn't know I woke you up. I tried not to.”

“Where did you go?” Nick eyed him suspiciously.

“I took a walk.”

“Alone?”

Nigel nodded and sat down across from him. Nick crossed his arms. 

“I had to clear my head,” Nigel said. “I couldn’t sleep.”

It was early in the morning when he finally got back home, and his light heart didn't let him fall asleep immediately. He spent hours staring at the ceiling, grinning to himself like an idiot.

Nick nodded. “We should talk. Like adults.”

Nigel took a bite of his cereal. Nick put his hands on the table like he always did when they were about to talk “like adults”. It usually meant that Nick was going to talk for half an hour, and Nigel would just nod along and agree to just get Nick to stop talking. 

“I’m sorry for losing my temper last night,” Nick said. “I was way out of line. You’re not a kid, and I shouldn’t have treated you like one.”

Nigel shrugged and took another bite. “I acted like a child.”

“Because I treated you like shit all day.”

Nigel perked up. Maybe they were going to finish the conversation with Nick agreeing that his feud with Will shouldn’t affect him. 

“I don’t want to tell you who to date,” Nick went on. “I only want you to be happy, and I know you can take care of yourself.”

Nigel’s heart began to pound. 

“But I still don’t want you seeing Will’s younger brother.”

And it dropped into his stomach. 

“Nick --”

“I’m not doing this to be mean or controlling. I’m doing it to protect you. When I met Will, I thought he was talented and charismatic. Turns out he’s an egocentric bastard.”

Nigel dropped his spoon into his bowl. “But Ritchie isn’t like that. He’s sincere, and he doesn’t like that Will is narcissistic in public.”

“‘In public’? What, did he tell you that Will is really sweet once you get to know him? Let me tell you, I’ve known Will for years, and the more I get to know him, the worse he gets.”

“He said something like that,” Nigel murmured. 

“Nige, I love you. I want to see you happy, and I want to see you safe. You’ll understand later.”

And that was something Nigel had heard his entire life. “You’ll understand later.” Nick would be saying that with his dying breath. 

“It’s more sensitive than you think,” Nick continued. “The whole situation isn’t good for anyone. I’m sure Will feels the same way -- and I’m willing to admit I can agree with him on something.”

Nigel nodded. “I get it.”

Nick smiled. His eyes lit up a little. “Good!”

He stood up and walked over to Nigel. He kissed him on top of the head.

* * *

 

Richard was rudely awoken by Will jumping on him. In a state of panic, he bolted up and looked around to find the smug face of his older brother. 

“I hate you,” Richard said. 

He raised a hand to his heart that he was certain could have shot straight out of his chest. 

“You love me,” Will said, smiling. “Besides, it’s 10, and we have plans.”

“Can’t we cancel?” Richard asked.

He laid back down, back facing Will, and closed his eyes. He was too tired to deal with Will’s shenanigans. He wanted to sleep for another couple of hours.

“Wish we had the option. We have brunch in an hour with important people and friends. This might get my next show financed.”

“Do you even have an idea for your next show?” 

“Nope. But I’d be nice to have the security.” Will bounced a little on the bed. “Why are you so tired? Did you not listen to me and stay up late?”

“I didn’t get back until after two.”

“You left last night?”

Richard’s eyes shot open. He rolled over to look at Will, who looked a little suspicious and confused. 

“Where did you go?” Will asked.

“I went out with some people I know. Night owls that wanted to show me the city at night.”

“What did you do?” 

“Went to a pub, had dinner --”

“Oh, so you don’t eat the takeout I work hard to order, but you can go out later with a group and eat dinner? Ritchie, I’m hurt.”

Richard rolled his eyes. “They’re some people I haven’t seen in a while, and I doubt I’ll see them again soon.”

Will hummed. “Well, this is the price you pay for going out so late and not listening to your older brother.”

He pulled a pillow out from under Richard’s head and threw on his face. Richard didn’t make a move to toss it aside. 

“We’re leaving in an hour. Get up, get dressed, shave. Look like how mother always wanted us to look on Easter.”

Richard thought about what would happen if he went back to sleep. Then, he remembered that Will was bigger than him and could easily drag him out of bed. Richard didn’t risk it and sat up. But he wasn’t happy about it. He took a quick shower and threw on a casual outfit that still looked presentable. He did his best shaving. 

Will was in his typical attire of a leather jacket and tight jeans. The only hint of professionalism was a dark blue button down shirt, not tucked in and collar undone. He wasn’t even shaved, and his hair was in the usual, lazy style. 

“Ready?” Will asked. 

“Are you?”

Will smirked and nodded. Richard shook his head. They had to be a sight walking out of the house. Will didn’t look like he was on his way to a business brunch with his leather and aviator sunglasses. Richard looked like he was going to church with his black dress pants and shined shoes. 

“This is good,” Will said, getting into the car. “They’ll know you mean business, and that I care about writing more than impressing them with stiff collars and aftershave.”

Richard leaned his head back against the seat. He closed his eyes in hopes of getting a little nap in before he had to socialize. He thought about Nigel, and his soft, curly hair that tangled around his fingers the night before. He thought about their breathing being the only sound in that big empty room. He thought about the moon pouring in and laying over Nigel’s face, making him paler until he resembled porcelain. It was just them for hours, close as they could be; legs intertwined and hands clasped around one another. 

He was starting to drift off when he felt Will’s hand grab his. He looked to him, and while Will was focused on the road and driving with his free hand, he looked solemn. 

“I don’t know what you did last night,” Will said. “And what I don’t know won’t hurt me. But if it’s something you know I wouldn’t approve of, don’t let it happen again, okay?”

“What do you think I did?”

“If it doesn’t happen again, I don’t care. Leave it at that.”

Will squeezed his hand before letting go. Richard looked out his window. He was too shaken to try to sleep again. 


	4. Chapter 4

Monday left the Bottom brothers lounging on the couch, too worn out to do anything but watch TV. It had been a long day, filled with actors learning rewritten scripts and too many problems popping up. The blocking had to be completely redone. While Nick furiously tried working it out on the back of his script, Nigel tried running through lines with the actors. Then, it was discovered that the dialogue of the new scripts didn’t flow as well as the brothers had hoped, and Nigel insisted on fixing them right then. The actors tried giving their advice, but it was mostly unappreciated. Lunch came early, and the brothers worked in the studio, eating whatever they could find in vending machines. 

“Oh my god, I hate this show,” Nigel said, staring blankly at the TV. 

“Change it,” Nick mumbled. 

Nigel looked at the remote sitting on the coffee table. His head was comfortably nestled on the arm of the couch, and his body wasn’t going to sit up no matter how much he wanted to. And he didn’t want to. 

“I don’t hate it that much,” he mumbled. 

Nick chuckled from his end of the couch. 

Nigel closed his eyes and blocked out the dumb jokes and cringe-worthy writing of the award-winning sitcom. He thought about things he actually enjoyed. His favorite books and his shows. The play he saw the other week. Shakespeare’s latest play he saw the month before. Nigel smiled. His night with Richard. 

He remembered how Richard was so tender holding his hand and pulling him into his arms. Richard had dug his fingers into Nigel’s hair and played with the curls. It was Nigel’s weakness. He loved having his hair played with. 

The floor of the studio wasn’t comfortable, but they made do. They curled up across from the wall of mirrors. Nigel had watched them in the mirror for several minutes, admiring how domestic and natural they looked. 

Nigel started thinking about what it would be like if Nick and Will came around. They could tangle their bodies together on the couch or in bed. Nigel could visit him in his little village, and Richard could occasionally come to London on his business trips. Nigel would be waiting with bated breath. 

They could go on dates to cute cafes and Nigel could show him all the independent bookstores in London. Richard could teach him about business, and maybe it would help out the Bottoms’ plays. They could go see Will’s shows together, and Richard would be in the audience when he and Nick opened their next show. 

He could feel Richard’s hand in his hair. 

“Nige. Wake up.”

But the voice didn’t belong to Richard. 

Nigel opened his eyes. Bea leaned over him and smiled. 

“Dinner is ready,” she said softly. 

He rubbed his eyes and sat up. Bea shook Nick awake. Nick groaned and reluctantly sat up. 

“Come on, you two,” she said. “It’s going to get cold.”

Nigel looked over at the dinner table. Three bowls of soup were laid out. He looked to Nick. He was still the intransigent, older brother.

* * *

 

Richard allowed Will to hold his hand as he dragged him through the photography exhibit. It was fairly crowded, and everyone seemed to know Will. Richard was tired of being constantly stopped and introduced and having pictures taken. It seemed to sap energy out of Will as well.

“Who opens an exhibit on a Monday?” Richard whispered.

“It opened Saturday, but we were too busy to go then or on Sunday,” Will whispered back. “This was the only day we had free -- Oh, hello!” 

A man around Will’s age approached the brothers. He smiled as he held out a hand for Will. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Will said with fake enthusiasm. 

“I’m so glad you could come.”

They shook hands. Richard eyed the man. He wore black-rimmed tortoise shell glasses and a blue scarf loosely wrapped around his neck over a form fitting button up. 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Will said. “I’m just sorry that I couldn’t be here for the opening.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s still the same pictures and people.”

Will’s smile was way too big to be genuine. “Let me introduce you to my little brother. This is Richard. Richard, this is Ellis.”

They also shook hands. Richard faked a smile. 

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too. I adore your exhibit.”

“Thank you! It took a long time to set it all up. I’m happy people are enjoying it. My biggest fear was that people wouldn’t understand it.”

Richard actually didn’t understand the exhibit. He couldn’t make out what the photographs were of. It looked like close-ups on body parts, but Richard couldn’t be sure.

“So, what do you do?” Ellis asked. “Are you a man of words like your brother?”

“I’m a businessman,” Richard said. “Nothing that’s as glamorous as this.”

“But you’re the man that keeps men like us from going broke.”

Will laughed. “Actually, he’s here to help me budget my newest play --”

“And you must tell me when that’s opening, darling. I have to be there.”

“Of course. But, Ritchie is the one keeping me from spending all the money on sets.”

“Your plays don’t even need elaborate sets, Will,” Richard said. “It’ll distract from the writing.”

“I wanted to go all out this time,” Will said. 

“And to make a profit, you’d have to sell a substantial amount of seats.”

“But he always does!” Ellis said. 

He and Will laughed. Richard smiled tightly. He didn’t want to put up with those type of people anymore. They were all fake, and Will had to be fake around them. Richard was disgusted by the artsy crowd that night. Not all poets and artists had to be stuck up and desperate to please. Nigel wasn’t.

His heart ached at the thought. 

“I’ll see you later. Ta!” 

Ellis’s attention was taken by someone else. Will’s smile faded, and he turned to Richard. 

“Ready to leave?” he asked. 

“Is that it?” Richard asked. “If so, yes. Please. Let’s leave.”

Will grabbed his hand again and lead him through the crowd. When they made it back to the car, Will sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. He looked a lot older than what he really was. The night had aged him by at least five years. He looked stressed and exhausted and ready to crawl away in a hole.

“I’m drinking tonight,” Will said. He opened his eyes and started the car. “Alone. In my room.”

He pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the dark street. 

“If you need me, I’ll be passed out in a pile of my own vomit,” he went on. “So don’t need me.”

“Should I check on you every hour?”

“Just roll me on my side, and I should be set.”

Richard smirked. “Okay, Will. I’ll take pics and post them online.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Do you know how many Instagram followers I got tonight?” Richard asked. “They’re mostly reporters. I think they were all excited to learn you have younger siblings -- by the way, thanks for telling people about us. It’s nice to know no one knows about your existence.”

“I want to keep you all out of the limelight. Trust me. You don’t want me gushing about where you all live and throwing your twits out there.”

“It’s called Twitter, Will. Or tweets. I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

Will groaned. “I don’t know what it’s all called. I don’t care.”

“You post on Instagram all the time.”

“That’s my only exception. I like it. I’m vain.”

“You’d love Twitter. It’s filled with dick jokes and witty 140 character one-liners.”

“I  _ do  _ love dick jokes.”

“I’ll show you…”

Richard pulled out his phone. All intentions of opening Twitter disappeared when he noticed a notification. His stomach flipped. It was a text from Nigel almost an hour ago. 

_ I hope you’re having a more exciting time than I am tonight. _

It was followed by three sleeping emojis. Richard quickly exited out of the message and opened Twitter.

“I’ll make you an account right now,” he said. 

“Not tonight, Ritchie,” Will groaned. “Some time when I don’t want to blow my brains out.”

“Fine. Be old.”

“I’m only 10 years older than you.”

“Right. That’s not old at all.” 

“Hush, or I’ll send you back to Stratford early.”

Richard shook his head. He stared out the window, growing more and more impatient. He wanted to tell Nigel all about his night. 

The drive back to Will’s home was unbearably long. He nearly bolted out of the car, but to avoid suspicion, he calmly stepped out and into the living room. Will walked past him, and true to his word, grabbed a bottle of whisky from the kitchen before going upstairs. 

“Goodnight!” Richard called, pulling his phone out again. 

_ Exciting yet atrocious. Could use a stiff drink. _

It only took seconds for a reply to come. 

_ What happened? _

Richard’s response was equally speedy. 

_ Photography exhibit that The Great William Shakespeare had to go to. Absolutely horrid. Wanted to die.  _

They talked for about hour, sharing their nights with one another. Richard was sympathetic towards Nigel’s problems at work but assured him that every playwright goes through similar problems. Richard probably looked like an idiot, grinning at his phone. At least, that was what Will told him. 

“You look like an idiot grinning at your phone like that,” Will said, walking back down the stairs and into the living room. 

“Where are you going?” Richard asked. 

“There’s a party.”

“On a Monday? Didn’t you say you were drinking alone tonight?”

“Changed my mind.” 

He was obviously drunk already. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the wall. 

“Are you driving?” 

“Of course not. I’ll get a cab there and back. Unless you want to come and take your car. Do you want to come?”

“No.”

“Thought so.” Will nodded. “I might not be back tonight. Don’t wait up, and if you get a phone call from a hospital, it’s okay. I’ve had alcohol poisoning before.”

“Are you going to be okay tonight?” Richard asked, starting to rise. 

“I was trying to be funny. I’ll be fine. But seriously don’t wait up. I won’t be back until late.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, kid.”

“Night, Will.”

Will reached forward and ruffled Richard’s hair. 

“Call me if you need anything, okay?” he said. 

“Okay.”

Will walked out of the room, leaving Richard alone again. 

Richard waited until he heard the front door close before bouncing a little and texting Nigel. 

_ Will is gone for the night. Come over. _

* * *

 

Nigel tried his best to sneak out of the house. He knew Nick had went out for an emergency grocery run, and he only had a small amount of time to leave if he wanted to avoid interrogation. 

“Are you going out?” Bea asked. 

He stopped in his tracks and turned around. She was at the kitchen table, filling out the boring paperwork all doctors needed to fill out. 

“Yeah,” he said. 

Bea smiled. “Have fun with Richard then.”

Nigel’s entire body slouched. 

“I know, Nige. I know everything that happens in this house.”

“Are you going to tell Nick?”

“Of course not. I want you to be happy, and I think Nick is wrong for keeping you and Richard apart.”

Nigel smiled. “Thanks.”

“But we need an excuse.”

Nigel sighed. “I went out to work on the play at the coffee shop.”

“Alright. That’s what I’ll tell him. Goodnight, Nige.”

“Goodnight.”

* * *

 

Nigel was in awe of Will’s house. It was so big, and he couldn’t believe that it was where one of his favorite playwrights lived. He may have been angry at Will for not letting Richard see him, but he still held Will in very high esteem for his writing.

“You’re sure Will is going to be gone all night?” he had asked.

“He should be. He’s at a party, and he’s already drunk. He won’t come back before 2 am, so that leaves us with four hours.”

They sat in the living room, a bad reality TV show they both found guilty pleasure in playing. 

“Why do you think people watch these shows?” Richard asked. 

“I think it’s to make other people feel better about their lives. I can’t finish our play for the life of me, but at least I can say I’m not a hoarder.”

“It’s also a little comforting to see people get their lives on track. Even if they probably relapse as soon as the episode ends.”

“Awww… Don’t be so pessimistic.”

“It’s not pessimism. It’s realism. There’s nothing real about reality TV, Nige.”

Nigel’s heart fluttered at the nickname. He scoffed to hide his fluster.

“That’s so pretentious. Have a little faith in humanity,” he said. 

“You think that this guy is going to keep his house clean after these people leave?”

“Maybe!”

“Hoarding is a mental illness. You can’t just stop being a hoarder.”

“Have you not been watching the show? They’re treating them!”

“Fine. Look it up and see if these people actually benefit from all this.”

They both pulled out their phones and began searching. 

“See?” Nigel said. “It says right here that these people stopped hoarding.”

“No way. It says here that the cleanouts aren’t successful.”

They pressed their shoulders together and looked at each other’s phones. 

“We searched different things. Of course we’re going to have different results,” Nigel said. 

He looked to Richard. They were so close. Their noses were almost touching. Nigel could feel Richard’s breath brush over cheeks. 

Richard leaned in. Nigel closed his eyes, heart pounding. Richard pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Three seconds of contact, and they pulled away. 

“Oh my god,” Nigel said. 

He dropped his phone and cupped Richard’s face, pulling him in. 

Their breathing was heavy. 

Richard dragged Nigel’s lip through his teeth. 

Nigel, not knowing what to do about that, let it happen. It didn’t feel wrong. His heart was about to fly out of his chest, and his lungs were going to explode. His entire being could have burst like a dying star from all the happiness, and he would live the rest of his days as a supernova. 

Richard’s fingers were buried in his curls. Then, they moved to his back, and Richard was pulling Nigel closer. 

“ _ NO! _ ” 

They pulled apart at the sudden shouting. Will stood in front of them, barely able to stand on his own two feet, staring in shock and anger. 

“Will! I didn’t hear you come in!” Richard jumped to his feet and walked forward. 

“What is  _ he  _ doing here?” Will demanded. He glared at Nigel, who could only sit on the couch, totally defenseless.

“I invited him --”

“I told you to never see him again.”

“I know, but that’s not fair, Will! You can’t just pick and choose who I date.”

“I’m not --”

“I don’t care how much older than me you are. I don’t care if mom and dad always put you in charge as a kid. I don’t care if you have a complex.”

“Richard --”

“I want to see Nigel, Will. That’s the end of it!” 

Will took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose with a shaky hand. Nigel could see how angry he was getting. 

“Richard, please listen to me!”  

Will was starting to raise his voice. It startled Nigel, but Richard still held his shoulders square and chin up. 

“No! Will, I’m tired of your shit! I don’t care what your and Nick Bottom’s history is! I’m going to see Nigel. I’m going to date him, and that’s the end of it. I’m an adult. I can do what I want. You can’t control my life and boss me around anymore, okay? I came to London to help you with opening your play. Not to be regressed to a child --”

A hard slap that threw his head to the side cut Richard off. Nigel gasped. Richard’s eyes were welling with tears, and his breathing stopped. 

Time seemed to stop. 

For a few moments, the only sound was strangled breaths coming from Richard and the quiet background noise from the TV.

“Richard…Ritchie…” Will choked out. “I-I’m sorry.”

Richard looked to Will. He looked shocked at his own actions. His usual cocky, smug, arrogant look was replaced with the utmost remorse. He reached out to Richard but left his hand in the space between them. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he said. 

“ _ Fuck you _ ,” Richard whispered. 

He looked to Nigel, who was still frozen in shock. He tried his best to keep his tears at bay. 

“Let’s go,” he said, turning on his heel and heading for the door. 

Nigel caught up to him. He took Richard’s hand and squeezed as he lead him to the car. 

“Let me drive,” Nigel said.

Richard handed the keys over without protest.

In the car, Richard finally broke down. His tears streamed down his face, and he wiped at them with the sleeve of his sweater.

“I know where we can go,” Nigel said. “Don’t worry.” 

He leaned over and put his hand on Richard’s wet cheek. He kissed him for a long moment before starting the car. Usually, he was the one having to be calmed down. He was familiar with the feeling of his chest being too tight, and his body feeling detached from his mind. 

“It’ll be okay,” he said because, deep down, he knew it had to be. Either his faith or his desperation was telling him that.

* * *

 

“This isn’t like Will,” Richard said. 

Portia continued to ice his red, tear-stained, burning face. 

“He must really hate your brother,” Richard said.

“Not as much as Nick hates him.” 

Portia shook her head. “I don’t understand how two men can hate each other so much. It’s deplorable.”

Nigel smiled. “Portia is incapable of hating anyone,” he said to Richard. “Or understanding the concept of hate.”

Richard smiled as well, though it was forced. He had calmed significantly during the drive to Nigel’s friend’s house. “That’s adorable.”

“I just see good in everyone,” she said. “My father is a very hateful man, and he uses religion as an excuse for it.”

“Portia loves everyone and everything because of her religion,” Nigel added. 

“I just think that if we were all created in God’s image, and if we’re all his children, then no one has the right to have such strong negative feelings towards one another regardless of what has happened or who they are.”

Richard took her hand. “I don’t believe in God, but that’s a great message.”

“I accept your beliefs,” Portia said. “As long as we’re on the same page.”

“We are.”

“Good. Do you two want anything to drink? You’re both still pale.”

Arriving on Portia’s doorstep unannounced only a few minutes prior, they were both pale and shaking.

“Water?” Richard asked. 

Portia handed him the ice and moved to the kitchenette. Nigel took the seat next to Richard. 

“How’s your face?” he asked. 

“It’s fine.”

Richard laid the ice on the coffee table in front of them. He took Nigel’s hand and leaned his head back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

“I can’t believe he did that,” he mumbled. “Will’s never hit anyone before.”

“I didn’t know he dislikes me so much…”

Richard shook his head. “It’s not you. It’s me. He… I can’t explain it. He’s very protective of me. He’s protective of all of us -- all my siblings -- since he’s the oldest, you know? He’s always been like that. Our parents really had their hands full, and he was always in charge. And we did  _ really  _ stupid things when we were kids. Will was the only sensible one, and he was at his wit’s end. He’s still at his wit’s end with us sometimes. And tonight was a bad night for him.”

“That’s not an excuse for him to hit you.”

“I know. I know. It’s just… it’s not because of you. He was drunk, and senseless.”

“There’s never a good reason for violence,” Portia said. 

She came back with the glasses of water. They gratefully took them. 

“You two are more than welcome to stay here,” she said. “Nigel’s done it multiple times.”

“Sometimes we fall asleep watching movies,” Nigel said.

“I’m just sorry I can’t offer you any more help,” Portia added. 

“No. Don’t feel bad,” Richard said. “You’ve been more than helpful.”

She smiled. “Well, it’s late. We should all go to bed. Things will be better in the morning when everyone has had a chance to sleep. Nigel, do you need help setting things up in here?”

“I’ve got it. I think we’re going to stay up for a little longer, anyways.”

“Alright. Come get me if you need me.”

She and Nigel hugged, kissing each other on the cheek. She offered a handshake to Richard before she disappeared. 

“She’s really sweet,” Richard said. 

Nigel nodded. “We’ve been best friends for years. Come on, get up. The couch turns into a bed.”

Richard stood and watched Nigel start taking cushions off the couch. He moved the coffee table to the side as Nigel started making the bed. 

“That’s so convenient,” Richard mumbled. 

“Isn’t it?”

Nigel walked down the small hall and opened a small closet. Richard could still see him reach him and grab blankets and pillows. 

“She’s always prepared for guests,” Nigel said. “It’s a biblical thing. Or maybe just a Portia thing.”

He laid everything on the bed and turned off the light, still leaving the room dimly lit by one lamp. He pulled Richard down onto it. 

“I feel bad about dragging you both into this,” Richard mumbled. 

“Don’t be. It’s alright. People go through hell for you when they really care.”

Richard smiled and turned off the lamp on the end table, plunging the room in darkness. They laid down and curled up in each other’s arms. 

“Portia was right. Things will seem better in the morning,” Nigel said. “Just go to sleep.”

“What if I don’t want to face tomorrow morning?” Richard whispered.

“You have to. You just have to.”

Richard put his face in Nigel’s collarbone and breathed in. He smelled like mint tea and a pleasant brand of laundry detergent. He took in the scent of who he supposed was now his boyfriend and found some comfort in it. 

“I’ll be here to face it with you,” Nigel said with his own bundle of fears and anxieties. “We might as well do it well-rested.”

Richard nodded. He closed his eyes. Soon he was fast asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have finals next week

The coffee mugs were hot against their palms, but it brought the warmth they needed when they were chilled by the same question.

“Did last night really happen?” 

Nigel woke up facing that question from Richard. He could only nod, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. The little sliver of hope in Richard’s eyes died. 

“What’s the plan?” Portia asked, picking at a bowl of fruit. 

“I don’t really have one,” Richard said. “I  _ could _ go back home to Stratford --”

“Not yet,” Nigel said. He didn’t want everything to end so soon.

“You can stay here until you figure things out,” Portia said.

Richard smiled. “Thank you, but I couldn’t do that to you. I’ll find a hotel, and I’ll finish all the reports I need to write for Will’s play, and I’ll leave when I was going to in the first place.”

“I wouldn’t finish the reports for him,” Nigel said. “I would just leave him on his own at this point.”

“I don’t want to be that petty. I’ll finish what I started, but… I don’t think I’ll offer to help him again.”

Nigel and Richard held hands under the table. Richard’s thumb stroked Nigel’s fingers. 

They all sat in silence until the doorbell rang. 

Portia rose to answer it. Richard rested his head on Nigel’s shoulder, closing his eyes. No one had actually slept well, and Nigel knew from Richard’s tossing and turning through the night, he had suffered greatly. 

Nigel looked up when Portia walked back into the room. His heart stopped when he saw Bea following her. She looked solemn and apologetic. 

“Nick knows,” was all she said. 

Nigel felt like a bucket of cold water had been poured over him, stealing his breath and chilling him to his core. 

“And he’s upset,” Bea continued. “He’s  _ really  _ upset, Nige. You need to come home.”

Richard squeezed Nigel’s hand. 

“How did he find out?” Nigel asked. 

Bea sighed. Portia took her seat again and fiddled with her coffee. For a moment, Nigel suspected that it was her that was at fault. In her attempts to fix things and in her overly-optimistic views, she was the one that told Nick that she harboring Nigel and Richard. 

“Will called,” Bea said. 

Richard sat up. “What?”

“He called Nick and told him the whole story. Nick didn’t believe him at first because he was so drunk, but…”

“Oh my god,” Richard groaned. 

“And Will said that he wants you to come back,” Bea said. “That he’s sorry for whatever happened last night, and he wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t --”

“I think you should,” Bea interrupted. “Just for his sake. Just to make sure he didn’t from alcohol poisoning over night.”

Nigel turned to Richard. “She’s usually right.”

Richard sighed. “Fine. But I’m not staying there for the rest of the week.”

Nigel stared at Bea. “How mad is Nick?” he asked, a little fear in his voice. 

Bea reached out to cup his face. “I’ve never seen him like this. But I don’t think he’s really mad. I think he’s using it to mask his worry. You should come home now.”

“Will you be there?” 

“Of course, sweetheart.”

The nickname made Nigel feel even worse. It was saved for only the most dire situations.

“Go home,” Portia said. “I’ll make sure Richard is okay.” 

Nigel nodded. He and Richard shared a look of equal parts fear, sorrow, and regret. They rose with Portia and walked to the door together where Bea and Portia left to give them privacy. 

“Hey, you can always text me,” Richard whispered with a smile. “They can’t stop us from that.”

Nigel laughed. “They can try.”

Richard grabbed the back of Nigel’s head and pressed their foreheads together. 

“Is this the last time I see you?” Nigel asked. 

“Not unless you run away to Stratford with me at the end of the week.”

“I  _ could _ .”

“No. You can’t. Think rationally. You can’t give up your work and family here.”

“But I’d be with you.”

“I know. I know.”

They sniffled and tears filled their eyes. 

“It’ll be okay,” Richard said. “Just… keep texting me. As long as we can text, we’re fine.”

“That’s a shitty relationship.”

“Better than nothing.”

Richard pressed his lips against Nigel’s in a long, final kiss. 

“Go,” he said when he pulled away. 

Nigel, without a word, slid out of the apartment. He was too numb to start crying in the car, which he supposed would have been appropriate. 

The entire drive back, Bea was quiet. She didn’t start a conversation, and Nigel was relieved by it. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want Bea pretending like everything was alright. 

He dragged his feet when they made it back home. Bea followed him into the quiet, tense living room where he knew Nick was waiting.

He cautiously approached Nick, who stood as soon as Nigel walked in. He expected yelling and screaming and, on his own part, crying. But Nick grabbed him and held him in a tight hug. 

“You’re safe,” he heard Nick breath against his shoulder. 

Confused, Nigel kept his arms by his side until Nick released him. 

Nick looked up at him and then his shoulders dropped. “You idiot.”

“Nick --”

“I can’t believe you would sneak off in the middle of the night, meet with the man I told you not to see, and not even call to say that you weren’t coming home. Then, I have to get a call from a drunk Will -- who I never want to talk to ever again in my life -- to tell me that you and his brother ran off together? I thought you went to that little village they come from. Thank God Portia had the common sense to tell Bea where you were.”

So Portia did tell. Nigel couldn’t hold her at fault. He was too angry at Nick.. 

“Have you ever stopped to think that maybe you’re too overbearing and stubborn to deal with all the time?” he asked, voice raising as much it physically could. 

Nick crossed his arms. “ _ I’m  _ the stubborn one? I only asked you to do  _ one  _ thing. One measly thing. Don’t see the boy. And what do you do? You do everything in your power to defy me. Somehow that makes me wrong?”

“Yes!” Nigel groaned. “Yes! Nick, I’m an adult. I don’t want to listen to you all the time like you’re mom or dad.”

“Well, too bad.” Nick began yelling. His face turned red. “Because you do! They’re not here, but I am.”

“I know they’re not here, Nick! I know they’re dead! I’ve gotten over that. I don’t think you have.”

“Nigel,” Bea said. 

Nick was silent. 

It wasn’t certain if anyone was breathing.

“You don’t have to tell me to go to my room. I’m going there myself.”

Nigel stormed off to his bedroom. Nick ran his hands through his hair, tugging slightly. Bea stood off to this side, head down, unable to think of something to do or say.

* * *

 

Richard held his breath as he entered Will’s house. Portia offered to go with him, but he insisted he should go himself.

Moving through the house made him feel uneasy. He peaked behind every corner to check for Will before moving forward. The more empty rooms he found, the more he tensed. Once he found Will’s bedroom vacant, he became confused. 

He stood in the middle of the room, wondering if Will was even in the house. Maybe he went out again the night before and never returned. Maybe he had some glamorous obligation that morning. 

Then, he heard coughing from behind the bathroom door. 

He stepped over bottles scattered across the floor. 

“Will?” he tentatively knocked on the door.

He heard more coughing and gagging. 

“Will? I’m coming in.”

He slowly opened the door. As he suspected, Will was kneeling in front of the toilet, vomiting. The remaining anger Richard felt turned into pity. 

“God, Will…”

Will wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat back. He looked up to Richard with red, bloodshot eyes and a pale, sweaty face. Richard had faint memories from Will’s university days. 

“I’m sorry,” Will croaked. Richard sat next to him. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have -- I was a terrible brother last night.”

Richard shook his head. “Why did you call Nigel’s brother?”

Will raked a hand through his hair, pulling the sweaty strands off his face. “I had to. I hate Bottom, but he had the right to know where his brother was.”

“But it’s not --”

“I thought of Bottom as an older brother last night. I understood. I would want to know if Nick had caught you two together.”

Richard’s shoulders slumped and he looked down. It was so unfair. 

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about us anymore,” he whispered. 

Will smiled and reached out to cup Richard’s face. It was the same spot he had struck. There was a small sting. 

“That’s what I want to hear. Let me see your phone.”

Richard, without a word of protest, pulled his phone out of his pocket. He watched Will take it, delete the conversation with Nigel, block the number, and then erase the contact. Richard took it back. 

“I’m sorry that this is how it has to be,” Will said. 

Richard wiped at the tears forming in his eyes. Will pulled him in and rested his head on his shoulder. 

“Shh… It’ll be okay.”

Richard’s breathing hitched, and he couldn’t stop the sobbing. Will continued to hush him and rub his back.

* * *

 

Nigel anxiously waited for his text to be read. He stared at it for over an hour. His mind couldn’t focus on anything else. 

There were only two more days before Richard was supposed to return to Stratford. 

Nigel started thinking of the worst case scenarios. Will could have taken his phone. He could have forbidden Richard from all contact with the outside world. He could have sent Richard home, and Richard just didn’t have the heart to tell Nigel that they weren’t in the same city anymore. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, and the stars shone as bright as they could in the busy city, Nigel grew more and more resigned to the fact that Richard just wasn’t going to text him back.

* * *

 

“Are you coming with me to the banquet tomorrow?” 

Richard looked up from his book. Will was curled up on the couch, too hungover to do anything but stare at the TV and Richard. 

“I guess,” Richard mumbled. 

He was tired. He was exhausted from the crying and having to talk to Will all day. 

“You don’t have to,” Will said. “But you’re more than welcome.”

Richard knew Will was walking on eggshells. He knew Will felt horrible for hitting him, and he knew that he drank himself on the brink of alcohol poisoning because of the guilt. 

“I’ll go,” Richard said. “I don’t have anything better to do tomorrow -- besides start packing.”

Will sat up. “About that…”

Richard put his book down and gave Will his full attention. Will held out his arm in indication that he wanted Richard to sit next to him. He obliged. 

“I was thinking you should stay an extra week,” Will said. 

He stroked Richard’s hair. Richard was still tense, but he had forgiven Will enough to allow it. 

“Why?” 

“I feel bad about what I did, and I don’t want you to leave if we’re on bad terms. Besides, I want to look after you… I worry about you.”

Richard fidgeted with his nails. 

“Oh,” Will said. “Also, I love you, and I miss you, and I want to spend more time with you.”

Richard chuckled a little. 

“And I want to make you laugh before you leave,” Will added. “I don’t want to see you moping days before you leave.”

Richard nodded and looked up. “Okay. I guess I can stay another week.”

“Great.” Will kissed his temple. “I’m going to bed. The room is still spinning.”

Richard furrowed his eyebrows in concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s been 12 hours, and you’re still hungover.”

“I’m fine.”

Will walked up the stairs, looking like he struggled the meager feat. Richard sighed and pulled his legs up to his chest. He could learn to forgive and be the good brother that Will always wanted him to be. He could be obedient and not talk back anymore. He could make up for the years and years of torment he put Will through. He could make up for the years he was the little brother that never wanted to listen to Will or be held by Will or be babysit by Will. 

Richard turned off the TV. He slowly climbed off the couch and creeped up the stairs. He walked past his bedroom and stopped in front of Will’s door. He waited outside for a moment before he hesitantly pushed open the door. 

Will was curled under the covers of his bed, seemingly asleep. Richard crept forward and carefully pulled the covers back. Will stirred and upon seeing Richard, scooted over and held open the sheets. 

Richard curled up against him, allowing Will to wrap his arms around him. That was all Will wanted. To hold his little brother. To hold Richard the same way that he had held the rest of his siblings. 

Richard felt bad for denying him of that for so long. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This focuses more on the brothers, I guess. And shoutout to my friend for helping me out with this chapter!

For two days, Nigel jumped whenever his phone buzzed. He barely slept. He barely ate. He kept his phone in his hand at all times. He trudged to work and did what Nick wanted him to. He ignored the sympathetic glances from Bea. He barely talked to Portia. 

All he wanted was to hear from Richard before he left town.

But he didn’t.

The realization that Richard was gone hit him after work. The sun was already setting, and Nigel knew he wouldn’t leave London so late. It was all over.

Suddenly, his heart felt as though it had been stabbed and was crumbling, settling into his chest and preventing his lungs from working properly. He felt sick, and his body felt weak. He couldn’t hold back his tears. 

It would have been less embarrassing if he wasn’t in the middle of the kitchen when he broke down.

Nick watched everything as Bea put an arm around him and led him to his room. 

“Come on, sweetie,” she said. “Let it out.”

And he curled up on his bed, head on her lap, and sobbed.

* * *

 

Richard wasn’t a fan of clubs that he had to wear a tie to. He didn’t like looking fancy when drinking beer because the men there turned their noses up at “sophisticated” drinks. It reminded him of clients he had to please, and it didn’t feel appropriate. It was his belief that if he wore a tie and had to drink, he would need wine or whiskey at the very least. Beer was reserved for parties and nights out with friends.

But Will was insistent that they go. They were invited to the private club for casual drinks, and it would be a good chance to mingle with potentially new producers. It was probably the first time Richard had seen Will wear a tie in a long time. Albeit, it still wasn’t a black tie with a jacket. It was grey with an open collar and jeans. It was the most professional Will had looked in 10 years.

Richard wondered when Will’s transformation happened. He had been a quiet child from what Richard remembered. He was invested in school and always seemed busy either watching the younger kids or trying to keep up with his studies. He always seemed to be doing something and never stepped out of line. To a younger Richard, he was an adult. Looking back on it with about 20 more years to his experience, Richard considered the possibility that Will never had a childhood. Maybe he seemed so much older because he had to be. 

And now, he was finally free. Free from responsibility, free from the burdens of their family’s financial problems, and free from being alone. 

“I’m leaving,” Will said to Richard and his three friends. Well, Richard assumed they were the closest things to friends that Will had. 

Maybe Will wasn’t alone, but he was definitely lonely. 

“I’m too drunk to stay here any longer,” he said with a smirk. 

Everyone laughed. Richard forced a little smile. 

“Ritchie, I hate to force you to leave. I can see you’re having the time of your life, but I doubt I can make it back to the house myself.”

“I’ll try not to be too heartbroken,” Richard said. 

He stood with Will and his “friends”. They walked out of the club and into the chilly air. It stung Richard’s cheeks. 

“Fuck! It’s freezing,” one of Will’s friends said. 

Richard didn’t know his name. He was tall and had a crew cut with long hair slicked up on the top of his head. He dug in his coat pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes. 

“Can I have one?” Richard asked. 

Will clicked his tongue when Richard grabbed one from the offered carton. 

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Will said. 

“I’ve cut down,” Richard said, leaning into the lighter. “I barely buy them any more. A pack can get me through a week and a half now.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

He took a long drag. He had tried so hard to quit over the past year. But that week had been so stressful, he longed for a nicotine buzz. Like Will’s drinking, it wasn’t something easily given up. 

Richard thought back to when Will started drinking heavily. It must have been when he turned 18. He went out with friends from school weekly and Richard would sometimes be awake when he came back, stumbling through the house. It wasn’t too bad then. Just what most 18 year-olds did. But it never got any better. 

Soon, Will was off to London. He was in the big city, and Richard was allowed to occasionally visit with his siblings. Gilbert would take them by train, and for a weekend Will would show them the city, and they would all sleep in a giant pile on his living room floor. 

Richard had a specific memory of waking up in the middle of the night and hearing Will and Gilbert talk from the kitchenette. He must have been 12. He understood the conversation. Gilbert was a little bitter about Will’s need to leave home. Will was understanding, but also stern about his desires that couldn’t be satisfied in their village. Their speech was a little slurred -- Will’s more than Gilbert’s -- and Richard could hear bottles clanking. 

“Just don’t get in trouble, okay? That’d break mum’s heart,” Gilbert had said. 

Will didn’t respond. 

A few years later, Will’s first play would open. A couple years after that, his first hit would premiere. Richard supposed that was when he started changing. The pressure to keep creating and keep up with everyone’s expectations was enough to make him a different person.  

“I’m dizzy,” Will said as they crossed a bridge over a creek. 

He took a unsteady step to the railing. Richard was a little nervous as he leaned on his elbows over the edge. 

“You okay?” Richard asked. 

He flicked his cigarette butt into the creek. It hit a jagged rock and sizzled out in the freezing water. 

“I’m fine,” Will said. He took a deep breath as his friends joined them. 

“Please don’t get sick,” Richard whispered. 

He didn’t want to deal with Will puking again. 

“I won’t.”

Will closed his eyes for a few moments and breathed deeply again. He looked a little pale in the moonlight. His body jolted with a hiccup. Richard watched closely, ready to grab him if he suddenly lurched over the railing. But he never did.

When he opened his eyes, he focused on the shallow water. He had a hollow look in his eyes. Like he was a thousand miles away and wasn’t aware that he wasn’t alone. 

“What’re you doing in there?” a friend asked, laughing. 

“Writing another hit, probably!” another said. 

Will didn’t seem to hear. He continued to stare blankly at the rocks and grimy water. Richard wondered what was going on in his head. He definitely wasn’t writing, and he definitely wasn’t pondering the romantic beauty he saw in the creek. It was dark and dirty and home to thousands of little creatures most likely carrying diseases. The rocks looked especially menacing. They were sharp and stuck out at every angle. Trash was caught on them and moss grew thick on their sides. 

Will’s eyes were dark, and his mouth was turned down in a frown. And he was so focused on those damn rocks. 

“Will?” Richard whispered, gently touching his shoulder. 

Will blinked and straightened up. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

He stepped away from the railing. He tugged at his tie, upsetting the knot and letting it hang loosely around his neck like a lazily tied rope. Richard took his elbow as a precaution.

* * *

 

Nigel wasn’t aware of when he stopped crying.

* * *

 

Bea stroked Nigel’s hair as his sobbing finally came to an end. 

“You’re going to be okay,” she cooed. “It’s all going to be okay.”

His eyes drooped close, and she carefully slid out from under him. She placed his head on the pillow and draped a blanket over his shoulders. His cheeks were flushed, and he shivered a little. And while he was always pale and slim, he looked more so laying in bed.

Bea kissed his forehead, feeling the low fever he was running, before she turned off the lights and stepped out.

Nick was sitting on the couch, watching her with a nervous look. 

For hours, he could hear Nigel’s crying through the thin walls. He felt helpless. Usually, he was the one that calmed Nigel down, but he knew that his presence would be unwelcome. He would probably make Nigel worse. If he wasn’t able to calm his little brother down, what was his purpose? What were the years of raising him good for if he was useless to Nigel in the end?

Bea sat next to him. She didn’t look angry, but she did look tired.

“His heart is broken.” 

Nick felt like cold water was dumped over him. He stared at the carpet, heart sinking down. He thought about their mother, lying in bed like Nigel after they got word that their father was dead. There would be no body, they were told. He was lost. Their mother, Nick clearly remembered, fell to the ground with a heart-wrenching sob. Nick could still hear her wails. He could still feel her clothes under his hands when he tried comforting her and pulling her up. 

Bea wrapped an arm around Nick. He leaned against her. 

He remembered Nigel sobbing with her. They both clung to each other, and their mother was strong enough only to carry Nigel to bed with her. 

Nick didn’t allow himself to cry that night. He made sure his mother and brother were sleeping before he snuck off to his room. He didn’t sleep. He broke down as the sun rose. He was as quiet as he could be before composing himself. 

Bea pulled him down. He laid his head on her lap.

Nigel was sick after that day. Nick never knew if the mourning made him ill, or if it was due to his already-frail body. Their mother did her best to take care of him, but it soon became hard for her to get up from bed. She stopped eating despite Nick’s pleas.

A very vivid memory always stuck out. He stood next to his mother’s bed, begging her through tears to eat and get up because he and Nigel and needed her. But she didn’t seem to even hear him. Her beautiful face (the same face Nick had always seen in Nigel) became paler and thinner. 

Bea wiped at the tears that were running down Nick’s face. 

A couple weeks later, she would finally get up. She would do her makeup and hair and wear her best dress. She kissed her eldest and her youngest -- who was just starting to recover. She smiled that day. Nick would always remember how happy she looked before he left the house. 

Then, he would get pulled out of class later that day. The principal was waiting, solemn, with police and their neighbor. And nestled in the neighbor’s lap, sickly again and crying again, was Nigel. 

Apparently their mother had left Nigel with the neighbor before going to the grocery store. And she  _ did  _ go the grocery store. But she never went inside. Next to the store was a busy road. She stepped out of the car and walked into the heavy traffic like a captain who bravely went down with their ship. 

Bea rubbed Nick’s arm. He buried his face in her lap. 

He didn’t want to think about the rest. He didn’t want to think about how they ended up staying in different foster homes and how desperate Nick was to grow up so he could get them both out.

“It’s my fault,” he mumbled. 

“You should eat,” Bea said. 

She pulled him up and cupped his face. 

“We can make it through this. But we’re all going to need to work together, okay? Nigel will be fine as long as he has us.”

“But he won’t want --”

“Nicky. He will be fine as long as he has us. Capiche?”

“Capiche.”


	7. Chapter 7

Nick and Bea hardly spoke over breakfast. Neither had the energy to say anything after Nigel’s breakdown the night before. Nick especially didn’t feel up to a conversation. Anything they said that wasn’t about Nigel would seem fake and forced. But a conversation about Nigel would be too upsetting. 

“I’ll see if he wants anything to eat,” Bea said as Nick cleared the plates.

Nick didn’t want to see Nigel. He didn’t want to see him curled up in bed, unwilling to move or eat. He didn’t want to see the mess that Bea easily looked after while he was too wracked with anxiety and guilt to. It would have been a painful reminder of their mother and of the fact that Nick was unable to look after his brother -- even in adulthood. 

He followed Bea to his bedroom and waited outside Nigel’s door. He held his breath so he could hear Bea’s gentle voice floating from the room.

“Do you think you can eat breakfast this morning, honey?” 

Nick couldn’t hear a response. 

“Do you just want to be alone for right now?”

Again, there was no response. 

Bea walked out with a frown, and Nick’s heart sank.

“I think we should let him rest for right now,” she said. “He’ll eventually come around.”

Nick wasn’t so sure. 

“Are you going to leave him alone all day?” he asked. 

She pulled him away from Nigel’s bedroom door and into the kitchenette. “Of course not. I’ll keep checking on him.”

“Maybe I should stay home today and --”

“No. Nick, he doesn’t need to be smothered. You go to work. I’ll be here all day, and I am more than capable of looking after him.”

“I know. But… it’s different. He’s my brother.”

Bea sighed and grabbed Nick’s coat from the back of a dining chair. “And I’m his sister  _ and  _ his doctor. I’ll call you if I think he needs you, but I doubt he will.”

Nick’s heart sank. He took his coat. He supposed Nigel really would have been better off without his interference. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Bea said, grimacing when she noticed his shoulders drop. “I was trying --”

“No. No. I know what you were trying to say.” Nick shrugged on his coat. “Nigel doesn’t need me to be here 24/7.”

“I think space will be good for him right now. When you get home, maybe he’ll have turned around a bit.”

Nick knew she what was really trying say; that she didn’t think Nigel was in any immediate danger. And he trusted her opinion as a doctor and sibling.

He nodded. “I’ll see you this evening.”

“Call me at lunch.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They kissed briefly.

* * *

 

Will picked at the granola Richard had set in front of him. 

“When I get old,” he said. “Are you going to be the one to take care of me?” 

Richard looked up from his phone. “What?”

“It’s been about two weeks, and you’re already changing my diet to… What does this even do? Does it help my bowel movement? What’s going to happen when I’m too old to take care of myself? What are you going to feed me then?”

“I just think eating something in the morning is important.”

“I’m usually fine with coffee.”

“Because you’re hungover almost every day.”

“I am not.”

Richard rolled his eyes. “You’re going to outlive all of us, Will. ***** You won’t need anyone.”

Will furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s a dreary thought.”

Richard didn’t respond. He continued scrolling down his phone and occasionally nibbled at his own granola. 

Will pushed his bowl away and grabbed Richard’s phone from out of his hands. 

“Will! What the fuck?”

“This doesn’t look like twitter.”

Will scrolled through the article that was open and dodged every time Richard swung his arm to take it back. 

“It’s the news!” Richard said. 

Will felt a little pleasure from Richard’s anger. There were too many mornings from their childhood where their father would sit with his nose buried in a newspaper while the children found some way to entertain themselves, and Will prevented spills and fights. Their father wasn’t much of a father before 9 o’clock. It was nice to keep Richard from falling into the same breakfast zombie habit.

“Will!  _ Give it back! _ ”

Richard’s whines hadn’t changed since he was a kid, begging Will to make one of the other kids to give back a toy. He was starting to feel like a bully. At least Richard wasn’t ignoring him in favor of some dumb thread on social media. Instead, it was some dull article about business in politics. That was fair. 

“Fine,” Will said, handing it back. “But you have to actually talk to me a little bit.” 

“What do you want to talk about? We’ve been around each other every waking moment.”

“You say that like you haven’t enjoyed it.”

“I haven’t!”

There was a pang of hurt Will smiled through. He knew Richard didn’t mean it. 

“Well, how’s home?” Will asked, desperately reaching for conversation. 

“We already talked about home.”

The first night Richard was there, he eagerly told Will about everything he missed. They stayed up until early morning, both perfectly happy in the big house that for once felt cozy.

“Does Ed still want to move here?” Will began to lose hope for conversation. 

“Yeah. But mum and dad really want him to finish university first.”

“Or he could just transfer to a school here.”

“That’s a great idea. Let the university student with hardly any social skills move to London to live with his alcoholic older brother. I’ll tell everyone when I get back. I’m sure everyone will jump to help Ed pack his bags.”

Richard stood and carried his bowl to the sink. Will could hardly breathe. Had he heard his brother right? Alcoholic? And the sarcastic tone alone was enough to drive a dagger through  chest. 

Richard walked past without another word. 

“Hey!” Will called out. He stood, a little anger starting to rise in his chest. “If you don’t want to be here, I can’t force you to stay.”

Richard folded his arms across his chest. 

“Because I only wanted you stay so we had a chance to mend any hard feelings between us,” Will went on. “And guess what? I’ve been trying to do just that. But if you don’t want to meet me halfway, and if you want to keep throwing your little tantrums, then it’s pointless. I’m not keeping you here against your goddamn will.”

Richard faltered. His arms dropped his sides. 

“I’m sorry that I’ve been a bastard since you’ve been here. I know I’m hard to deal with sometimes, Richard. I do. And I know it isn’t much of an excuse, but I’m stressed beyond belief right now.” Will ran a hand through his hair. His anger was starting to change to overwhelming nerves. “And I don’t want you to be here if you’re uncomfortable or because you feel like you need to be or… whatever reason you’re here still.”

Richard looked to the ground and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m here because I love you, Will. And, I don’t know… I guess I’m worried about you.”

Will needed a stiff drink. He’d settle for anything at that point actually. Even a wine cooler would make that conversation easier. 

“Mum told me to look after you,” Richard went on. “She knows how you get when a show is about to open.”

The last thing Will needed to think about was the show. Without a doubt, the show got him worked up for hours. He swore he was going to have a heart attack at 36 if that month kept going the way it was. He had often joked that his busy schedule made him dizzy, but in reality, there had been times when he felt light-headed and shaky moments before an interview or a social event. He had brushed it off, though. He didn’t have the option to stop. 

“I keep thinking about the worst case scenario,” he said. “What if the show flops?”

“Your shows don’t flop.”

“But not everything I write is as great as --”

“Will.” Richard walked to him and pulled him into a hug. Though, he was slightly shorter than Will, so it was more like pulling him down into the embrace. “I’ve shown you the numbers. You’re guaranteed to sell out. You’re going to make a profit regardless of how good or bad the play is. And I’ve read it. And it’s really good. People are going to love it.”

“They’ll love it because it has my name on it.”

“No. They’ll love it because it’s good.”

Will rested his head on Richard’s shoulder. He didn’t know how long Richard would keep holding him, but it was nice. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been held the same way he held his little siblings.

“I swear I’ll be a better brother once this damn show opens,” he mumbled. 

“You’re already pretty good.”

“No. Come back after it opens, and we’ll have a better time.”

Richard laughed. It should have been calming. He pulled away and smiled at Will.

“I’m going to get ready. Rehearsal is still in the theatre, right?”

“Right.”

“Great.”

Richard rushed upstairs. Will looked at his bowl of granola, suddenly not hungry. His thoughts spun around in his head at a concerning pace. What if he was turning into a bad influence on his siblings? Especially Ed? He would never be able to live with himself if he knew he was setting a bad example for his baby brother. 

And what if the show flopped? What if people, so unimpressed with his latest work, stopped seeing all his shows? Or even worse; what if he had used up all his creativity? Was that possible? To have a limited amount of talent and ideas and maybe he had used all of his up too soon?

Will’s stomach began churning. He feared being sick in the kitchen sink and losing his last shred of dignity. The room turned slightly brighter and began spinning, and he knew what was happening. He stumbled to the counter and dropped to his knees. 

He had to get a hold of himself. He couldn’t get worked up with Richard right above him. Richard would be worried, and then Will would have to tell him that it happens sometimes. Richard would throw a little fit. He’d probably call their mother. She couldn’t know about it. She was always thinking Will needed to relax and this would only scare her into making him drop work for a while to go home with Richard. 

He spread his legs out in front of him and pressed his back to the cabinets. He had to calm down. He had to make the room stay still. He had to regain all the blood in face. There had to be  _ something _ in his life he could control. If it wasn’t his temper or his drinking, then it should at least be his blood pressure at that moment. His biggest nightmare was Richard walking back downstairs and seeing Will, pale and shaking on the kitchen floor, possibly with vomit on himself if he couldn’t settle down soon. If there was a God, he would let Will have time to compose himself before Richard came back downstairs and stop the events of that morning from escalating into a heart attack.

It wasn’t the potential of death that alarmed him but the idea of looking undignified in front of someone he helped raise. 

His head started to clear after a short, silent prayer. The room stilled. His stomached calmed. The only things that remained were sweat and a tingling in his fingers and in the bottom of his gut. Slowly, he pushed himself up. The floor felt solid, and the room looked tangible. 

He stood in the middle of the kitchen. He could faintly hear the water from the guest room’s pipes running, and he breathed a sigh of relief. His silent incident had gone unnoticed and after a warm shower and time, it would be left unacknowledged in the past.

* * *

 

Nick went straight to Nigel’s room when he came home. He knew if he hesitated even slightly, he would talk himself out of seeing his brother out of fear of breaking him more. Nick occasionally acted better without thought. Though, not often. 

“Hey, Nige!”

Nigel was curled up on his side, staring at the wall. Nick pulled the sheets away from his face, smiling at the pale, despondent face that refused to look at him. 

“I have good news.” 

He was afraid to raise his voice above a whisper. He didn’t want to startle Nigel or upset him or come across as unsympathetic. Every time Nigel fell into a fit, Nick walked himself through steps to make sure Nigel was as comfortable as possible. The first step was to quietly get his attention.

“We rehearsed through the whole play today.”

Nigel rolled over to face him, seeming a little interested. The next step was to initiate physical contact. He needed Nigel to know that he was there. Sometimes, it would prompt Nigel into going in for a hug. 

Nick stroked his hair. It was a little greasy and tangled. Nick remembered washing Nigel’s hair for him when he was little. He’d sit in the tub, and Nick would teach him how to take care of his curls. Wherever they went, their foster parents never seemed to know how to handle curly hair. Nigel’s hair would come out a frizzy, poofy mess after being washed and brushed. At the time, it was kinda cute and funny, but Nick knew that he would need to know by the time he was a teen.

“All those rewrites you did the other day? Everyone loves them. You should have seen the cast today!” 

Nigel didn’t smile or give any real indication that he was actually listening. But, his eyes became a little less vacant. It was enough for Nick for go into the third step: encourage him and make him feel valued. 

“They didn’t want to stop rehearsing. They were so determined to do your writing justice, and they’re convinced that this is going to be our first real hit!” 

Nick clapped his hands together and beamed. Nigel pulled the bedsheets back over his mouth and rolled over. 

“Come on, Nige.” Nick tugged them away. “Can I see a little smile?”

Nigel flashed him a little, unconvincing grin. Nick sighed. 

“You say that about every show,” Nigel mumbled. “It never happens.”

“I have a good feeling about this one.” He tucked the covers back over Nigel’s mouth. “Do you want something to eat?”

Nigel shook his head. 

“Have you eaten at all today?”

Nigel shook his head again. 

“Do you want to make me happy and at least try to eat something?”

And as Nick expected, Nigel shook his head.

Nick didn’t want to push Nigel any further. If anyone would coax Nigel out of his room, it would take time and patience. Nigel was stubborn and unable to find any motivation to move. Nick couldn’t blame him. He had been treated unfairly. 

“If you change your mind, Bea and I will be right outside your room.”

Nigel nodded and closed his eyes. Nick leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple. It was the end of that conversation, and it was time for the final step. 

Nick got up and left him alone. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Historically, William Shakespeare did outlive all of his siblings, except one sister, Joan. Richard died only three years before his eldest brother at the age of 39.


	8. Chapter 8

Nick’s hand slid onto Bea’s waist, over her t-shirt of an obscure band she used to listen to but had since been neglected. The fabric was thin and worn out and fading from a black to gray.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at him,” Nick said.

The room was dark. The clouds covered the moon and the curtains blocked out the city light. Nick could barely see Bea rolling over to face him. He put his hand on her back, fiddling with her shirt and pressing his fingers into her lumbar. If only he correctly remembered the titles of every vertebrae she had told him as she kissed her way up his spine while she was in medical school.

_Lumbar 3, L2, L1, Thoracic 12, Th11…_

It was such a sweet memory from such a long time ago. Before the curls over his temples turned grey, before Nigel was out of high school, before Bea and Nick had eloped. Things felt simpler back then. Of course, they probably weren’t. They had probably always been facing Hell as the result of the star’s sick game against them. But once Hell started piling up, and the stars started laughing louder at them, it got to be too much.

“You need to sleep, love,” Bea said. “You need to stop blaming yourself.”

“I can’t. There’s no one else to blame.”

“No one has to be blamed.”

“Yes, they do. And it’s me. Because I was supposed to take care of Nigel. I was supposed to replace our parents, and look how shitty I’m doing.”

“It’s a chemical imbalance in his brain. It’s not anyone’s fault. He’s predisposed to it because of genetics, and it’s the same hormonal fuckup that was in her.”

Nick’s breathing stopped. Bea touched his cheek, feeling his soft, warm skin.

“But,” she said. “He doesn’t have to end up the same way she did. This is all being dealt with better than her case.”

Nick sniffled. “She would have known what to do.”

“Nick –”

He sat up and turned on a light. It was harsh and sudden, and they both winced. But Nick pressed his fingers into his eyes and kept talking.

“When Nigel was a baby, he never stopped crying. I think he had colic – I don’t know. But he cried all the time, and she was the only one that ever got him to calm down. My dad tried, our grandmother tried, I even tried.”

Bea smiled a little. She imagine Nick, only eight years old, reaching out to his baby brother to try to stop the incessant fussing. She imagined he would touch Nigel in the same gentle way he did as an adult.

“Our mother was the only one that ever got him to stop. She always knew what to do. And if she were still here –”

“But she’s not.”

 _“If she were_ , she’d know what to do. Because Nigel was her baby.”

“ _But she’s not here_. Nicky, listen to me.” She was a tad frustrated but still held his hands carefully and lovingly. “She’s not here. Because she wasn’t able to deal with this in herself. If she couldn’t do that, how would she deal with it in her kid? A colicky baby and a depressed adult are two totally different situations. I think you’re… glorifying her a bit.”

Nick stared at his lap, eyebrows furrowed together. “I can’t be mad at her.”

“You don’t have to be mad at her.”

“And I can’t count… what she did as a flaw of her person.”

“It isn’t. You’re mother was very sick, and sometimes people don’t recover from being sick. And they can’t be held responsible.”

“Someone has to be responsible for death.”

“Like who? God? Jesus? Buddha? Krishna?”

“ _People_. People who don’t do anything. If the sick can’t be blamed, then someone has to have been there to help. There has to have been someone there that could have stopped everything.” Nick’s cheeks were red. His eyes welled with tears. “People don’t just die without it being anyone’s responsibility. Someone has to be accountable for it. Bad doctors, abusive families, corrupt government.”

“Someone has to be on the receiving end of anger?”

“Yes.”

“You son of a bitch.” Bea’s sat back. Anger wasn’t evident in her tone but in her eyes. “Anger is just a stage of grief. And no one walks away from a death without any regrets. Want to know how I know? Because I’ve been blamed for death before –”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying? Who killed your mother? The person who hit her? Or herself because she walked into busy traffic?”

The red on Nick’s cheeks spread to the rest of his face, and his tears spilled out of his eyes. He raised a hand to his mouth.

Bea sighed and pulled him into her arms. “What are you trying to say, love?”

“If Nigel dies,” Nick said. He took a deep breath. “If Nigel… does what she did, I would never be able to forgive myself. Because I would be the one that caused it. Because I promised him everything would be okay, and look where we are now. Nothing is okay. I’ve failed at raising him, and his heart is broken, and who’s to say he won’t kill himself?”

The words hit Bea hard.

“You know what I see?” she said. “You got Nigel out of foster care as soon as you could, you raised him so he’s educated and as healthy as genetics let him be, you gave him a home, you filled in for your parents, and you’ve never given up on him. And so maybe you’re a bit controlling. I know he won’t kill himself because he’s not showing signs of suicide and we’ve taken precautions. Wanna know a secret?”

Nick hesitantly nodded, his head resting on her chest.

“I sedated him before we went to bed.”

Nick sat up. He wiped his eyes. “You what?”

“When I was talking to him earlier and gave him that cup of tea? I slipped a sedative in. He’ll be out for at least 5 more hours.”

“Bea –”

“He needs to sleep, and I think we’d both sleep easier knowing he’s not getting up in the middle of the night.”

Nick sniffled again. “Isn’t that illegal?”

Bea grimaced. “I mean… if you look at it technically… I’m his doctor.”

“And I’m his proxy.”

“You would have said yes.”

Bea reached for her nightstand and grabbed a box of tissues. She laid them on Nick’s lap.

“Can I ask for your professional opinion?” he asked. “About Nigel?”

“Looking at Nigel – not as his sister – I would say he’s in no danger. I would say to keep an eye on him so he doesn’t get worse, but he hasn’t shown any signs of suicidal behavior. Besides depression. And having a family history. But other than that, I wouldn’t say he’s a danger to himself. He might have the potential, but I see no immediate concern. Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah.”

“Has Nigel ever… seemed suicidal?”

Nick played with a used tissue. “I don’t think so. It’s never been a problem before, but he’s also never been this bad before either.”

“We’ll call his psychiatrist in the morning. Let him know what’s going on. He knows more about Nigel in this area.”

Nick nodded. His tears had stopped, and he put the tissues aside.

“Come on, let’s go to sleep before you make me mad again,” Bea said. “You’re tired, and you’re not thinking clearly. We’ll take this a day at a time.”

Nick turned off the light, and they curled together underneath the covers. Their foreheads pressed together. Their breathing touched the other’s nose. Bea’s hands went to Nick’s back. Her fingers trailed under his own t-shirt and over his spine until she found where he left off.

_Thoracic 10, Th 9, Th 8…_

* * *

Richard slammed down his shot glass. He was warm. A little too warm. And dizzy. He couldn’t keep a smile off his face when he looked across the table to Will.

“I’m surprised you can keep up,” Will said, speech slightly slurred. “You’re a light-weight.”

“Not so much,” Richard said.

Will laughed. “We’re done.”

“No,” Richard whined. “I just… I just need some air. And to piss. And I’ll be good.”

“That’s not how alcohol works.”

Richard stood up and for a reason he didn’t understand, his legs didn’t want to support him. He pitched forward, catching himself on the table.

“I’m good. I’m good,” he said.

Will held out his hand. “Do you need help? I always say you never know how drunk you are until you sit on a toilet.*”

“I’ll just piss in your garden.”

Will gasped and raised his hands to his mouth, looking genuinely scandalized. “My tulips!”

“Your tulips are dead, Willy. It’s winter.”

Richard stumbled a few steps before regaining his feet and leaving the room. He grabbed his coat from the kitchen counter and took three attempts to shove his left arm through.

The chill in the air was unforgiving. It cooled the sweat collecting along his hairline. He wrapped his coat tight around him and grabbed his carton of cigarettes and lighter from his pocket. His drunk fingers struggled to pull out a single cigarette.

Richard looked up at the sky. The stars were absent. It reminded him of the night Nigel took him to the studio and looked out over London. Richard could still see the buildings that glowed and the room bathed in moonlight. Like ghosts, he could still feel Nigel’s fingers dance under his shirt and along his waist.

The cigarettes were refusing to come out of their snug home. Richard’s hands were beginning to shake.

He would never forget how steady and certain they were when they were spread across Nigel’s back. His fingers were cold still, and Nigel had jumped a little, but they were soon warm against Nigel’s skin.

Finally, a cigarette came out. Richard cupped his lips around it and struck his thumb against the metal wheel of the lighter. A flame didn’t start.

They had covered each other’s faces in sloppy kisses that tasted like wine and liquor and the hope that they wouldn’t regret their actions when they were fully sober in the morning. And thankfully, when the sun rose, Richard would have repeated it all a hundred times over.

The flame was stubborn and refused to ignite.

But it wouldn’t happen ever again. Nigel didn’t even know he was still in London. He was trapped in Will’s supervision, and Nigel was trapped in ignorance. It was unfair that they were separated by the feud of their households while the stars still mixed their souls together during their creation.

Tears welled up in Richard’s eyes as the flame still didn’t ignite. His thumb struck it over and over and over. Why was it so ornery? Why couldn’t it see that Richard just wanted to light his cigarette? Even if it wasn’t the best thing for him – or so he was told. Why wasn’t Richard allowed to wreck his own lungs without the warnings? It was his own life. If the possibility of cancer didn’t scare him, why should anyone – even a stupid, cheap lighter he bought in a petrol station – care? Why was there so much meddling? Why couldn’t he just live his own life?

The cigarettes fell from his hands and spilled on the ground. The lighter joined them a second later.

Richard’s chest felt like it was breaking open. A sob ripped through his throat, and in frustration and heartbreak, he collapsed to his knees. He wailed and hugged himself and looked up the sky. His tears soaked his cheeks and dripped off his chin.

“I defy you stars!”

His scream carried through the yard. And probably through the city and country and to the gods that looked down on him with such contempt.

“Fuck you!”

The back door was thrown open. Richard crumpled in on himself as Will ran to his side.

“What’s wrong, Ritchie? Come on…”

Will wrapped his arms around him and tried looking at his red, tear-soaked face.

“Richard, please. What’s wrong?”

Richard continued to cry. He couldn’t answer Will. Grief had stolen his voice.

Will was his strength. He pulled Richard up and lead him back inside and upstairs. He grabbed a cold cloth and wiped down Richard’s face as they laid together in Will’s bed.

“You’re okay,” Will cooed. “You’ll feel better soon. It’ll all be over soon.”

And Will seemed to have sobered up at the need to care for his brother.

“You’ll be okay. You just have to get through this. You can do that, right? You can be my strong, little brother?”

Richard found himself nodding as the tears began slowing.

“I know you can. You’re always strong.”

The alcohol took every last ounce of energy Richard had in his body. His breathing calmed – not from closure but from exhaustion. His eyes grew heavy. Will’s hands stroked his hair in the way a lullaby would soothe his ears.

“I got you. I’m here.”

And Will’s words faded. And Richard’s body went limp. And he was blessed with falling into a dreamless sleep.

Will, with a heavy sigh and heavier heart, ran a hand over his face.

Richard was one of the young ones. By the time he came along, their parent’s hands were full. There was little attention given to the baby with red hair and freckles across his nose. And though the red and freckles would fade with time, Richard never received any more love. Their father was rough. Their mother was busy. Will had to play babysitter more often than what was fair.

He remembered being only 12 when his father roughly grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him into the next room to scold him. He remembered being 15 and having his father leave bruises on his wrist. At 17, his ears were boxed. And in between all those events, he was always being tugged around, and there was always a hand raised in threat.

At 35, Will felt his own father come over him. Dead for three years, and he was standing in Will’s living room, in his body, with his hand having just hit Richard’s cheek. And there was no time for Will to stop him. There was no time for Will to grab his hand and pull it back and shake some sense into him. He couldn’t plead for his father to have some mercy on Richard – the second youngest. He couldn’t get Richard out of the way.

He couldn’t. Because it wasn’t his father who did it. It was him.

He couldn’t stop himself from breaking the promise he made all those years ago at his father’s funeral.

_I will never be like you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Actually, this is what I say. Because it’s true. I’ve had experiences in my school’s bathrooms.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this bad? probably

_ July, 2009 _ _   
_ _ London _

Richard picked at his meal. He felt bad that he wasn’t eating the food (probably very expensive food) that Will had bought him, but he couldn’t force himself to eat more than a few bites. His stomach twisted and felt like a lump of cement had found a home there. 

“Are you okay?” Will asked. 

Richard took a sip of water. Will had abandoned his own meal as well and stared at Richard with the overly-concerned look he always wore when he nervous about one of his younger siblings. It was kind of sweet, Richard thought. Will was always looking out for them even though all of them but Ed were technically adults. But he did manage to take it too far. Maybe it was because he was trying to fill a role he wasn’t supposed to have. Richard had always felt like Will was a little bit more fatherly than their own father. And in the middle of summer nights, when he was finally old enough to be deemed cool by Joan, she would sit up with him and listen to his grievances. 

_ “You know,” she had told him one night, “Will is more of a parent than a brother.” _

And perhaps Will was always a little more protective of his only sister, and she always saw a different side of him, but Richard nodded in agreement. He could pinpoint specific moments when Will would change from being a brother to a parent -- moments when rough housing went a little too far or sarcastic conversations got too snarky. He was put in time outs by Will, cooked dinner, picked up from falls, and had his tears dried by Will. 

It made Richard so angry at their family. He was angry at their father for being so negligent. He was angry at Will for not being the brother Richard wanted. He was angry at their mother for letting it all happen. 

“Ritchie?”

Richard looked up at Will. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not eating.”

Richard shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”

“Why not?”

Richard hated the constant interrogations by Will. Will lacked the parental instincts to be able to tell what was wrong but still had the desire to help. 

He had insisted on a weekend with Will alone. He didn’t want to compete for alone time with his siblings as they all demanded attention from their oldest brother. Gilbert had testified for him in front of their parents. Will had called to say it’d be fine if Richard wanted to visit London alone, sincerely promising their parents that Richard would be safe on a train alone. Joan had rolled her eyes and pointed out that she was allowed to travel alone when she was his age. Ed had cried that he wasn’t allowed to see Will, too. 

“Um… Will? Can I tell you something?” 

Gilbert and Joan had taken him to the station and told him that the visit would be great. They smiled encouragingly at him -- something they wouldn’t have done the month before. 

“Of course, kid.”

“Umm…” Richard tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and stared at his plate. He took a deep breath. “I’m um… I’m gay.”

He glanced up. Will was smiling. 

“You were that nervous to tell me? Ritchie…” Will reached across the table to take Richard’s hand. “I love you, and I want you to be happy. I don’t care about anything else. Well, I care about you being comfortable in your sexuality. And I care about you finding someone you love. And I care about you being safe. But this doesn’t change anything between us, okay?”

Richard smiled a little. “Thanks.”

“Do Gil and Joan know?” 

Richard nodded. He had been a lot more casual with them -- especially Joan. It was something he mentioned in passing, commenting on an attractive guy on TV and then, over breakfast one morning by some weak joke about a suggestively placed sausage (Gilbert had fist-bumped him for the joke alone).

“This is why I wanted to spend the weekend here,” he said. 

“Oh. I thought it was because you missed me and wanted to see me before you went away to university. You know, like what you told me and mom and dad?” Will sighed. “I guess it was foolish of me to believe the lies of youth. I should know better by now. You can go back to Stratford now if you want.”

“Shut up.” Richard laughed. “I  _ did  _ want to see you before I left. I figured I could kill two birds with one stone.”

“One bird is dead, and we’re working on the other.” Will smiled. Then, dropping his voice, “Why were you so nervous?” 

“I don’t know. I thought it’d be a big deal.”

“Oh… Ritchie. It isn’t. Not in that way. You know Kit is gay, right?”

“Yeah, but your best friend being gay is different than your brother being gay.”

“No, it isn’t. Why should I accept my friend but not my brother?”

“I was just worried.”

“You didn’t have to ever feel worried about this with me. I should have made that clear a while ago.”

Richard shrugged. Will repositioned himself in his chair and leaned forward. His eyes were soft, and Richard knew that he was going into his parent-mode. 

“You can come to me for anything,” Will said. “Whether it’s good news or bad news, you shouldn’t ever worry how I’m going to react. I’m your brother. Not your parent. If you don’t like how I treat you, you can punch me.”

Richard shook his head. It was a little sad, he thought, that Will had to remind him that they were brothers. It was also unbelievable that Will would allow Richard to punch him. Neither of them were tall, but Will still had a few inches on Richard and plenty of muscle. 

“And,” Will went on, “don’t let anyone tell you who you can and cannot love. It’s not up to anyone else to decide who you are or who you should be with.”

“Thanks.”

They ate in silence, and when the bill came Richard tried peeking at the price. He didn’t know exactly how much money Will had, but he knew that it must have been a decent amount with how he tended to spend it and how often he seemed to write hits. Will covered the bill with his hand as he signed it.

“Don’t look,” he said. “That’s rude.”

“I want to know how much you tip.”

Will pulled his hand away for a moment. Richard’s jaw dropped. 

“I’m not totally an asshole,” Will said.   


* * *

 

_ February, 1999 _ _   
_ _ Cornwall _

Nick and Nigel looked at the ceiling. Their knuckles brushed against one anothers on the bedspread. It was quiet, and they should have been asleep. But there was something about that night that kept them from turning off the light and getting into their own beds. 

“I talked to Sally today.”

Nigel turned his head. Sally was their foster mother. She was, by far, the best foster mother they had had. They felt comfortable in her home -- or,  _ their  _ home as she called it.

“She said that once I turn 18, I can stay here.”

Nigel smiled. “I told you she’d say yes.”

“And she said I can get custody of you as soon as possible.”

“I told you that, too.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but it won’t be easy.”

“But it’ll happen.”

“It might take a while. I have to be independent -- legally. Then, I have to prove that and that I’m responsible enough to take care of you and then, we have to hear what your social worker and the courts have to say.”

“That doesn’t seem too bad.”

“It’s not going to magically happen. I don’t suddenly get a steady income for two people when I turn 18.”

“But you always figure things out.”

“I only have a few months until I graduate.” 

“And you’ll figure things out.”

Nick hummed. Nigel beamed. 

His body was light. Nick was always good at taking care of them and planning the next steps. And of course he would know what to do when he turned 18 because he was already basically an adult. He was more of a parent to Nigel than their foster parents. He was the one that would get Nigel ready for bed and dry his tears and help him with schoolwork. 

Years later, he would put together that Nick was purposefully shoving the foster parents away from him.

“All I’m saying is that it’s going to be a few years,” Nick said. “And I’m not taking you with me when I move out.”

“Yeah.”

Nigel thought about the life Nick promised for the both of them. They’d live together. Just the two of them in an apartment -- preferably in London, the place their father always told stories about when he came home with gifts after weeks away from home. They wouldn’t have foster parents who, they always feared, would send them away. They wouldn’t have to worry about moving unless they wanted to or being separated again like they were the first months of being placed in foster care. It made Nigel almost giddy knowing how free he would be with Nick taking care of him.

“I think it’s time for bed,” Nick said. “You have school tomorrow.”

“You do, too.”

“The last few months don’t count -- except for tests. Besides, I’m not 10. You need more sleep than me.”

Nick stood and pulled back the covers for Nigel to crawl under. 

“Goodnight, Nige.”

Nick got into his bed, reaching over to turn off his bedside lamp. 

“Goodnight, Nick.”

* * *

 

_ Present Day _ _   
_ _ London _

“Look who’s up!” 

Nick walked further into the apartment, following Bea’s voice. 

Nigel sat at the kitchen table with Bea, freshly showered and eating a scone with clotted cream. A weight was lifted from Nick’s shoulders. He pressed a kiss to Nigel’s cheek, getting a little protest. 

“He got up a little past noon,” Bea said. 

“Good. How do you feel?”

Nigel shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

Nick took a seat next to him. “You guess?”

“Better than I was.”

“Great!”

They sat in silence for a moment. Nigel nibbled at his scone, his thin fingers holding it delicately around the edges. Bea must have made it for him, Nick thought. Bea was generous with toppings when it came to Nigel. She was always worried about his weight and occasional phases of not eating.

“I’m sorry.”

Nigel looked to Nick. From the corner of his eyes, Nick could see Bea smile and nod. 

“I haven’t been treating you right,” he went on. “I’ve been unfair. You’re not a kid anymore.”

Nigel nodded.

“I wish you were,” Nick said, with a slight smile that quickly faded. 

He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell Nigel how much easier everything was when he was still a kid, in foster care and under Nick’s guardianship. They may have been in hell going from home to home, but Nigel always carried himself a bit differently than the others. He was  _ sure  _ that Nick was going to find a solution for them. Nick would never let him down, and he let Nick know. Even when Nick confessed he didn’t have a plan (or when he yelled this at Nigel, frustrated at Nigel’s inability to see that they were stuck), Nigel firmly believed that one day things would get better. 

As soon as Nigel became an adult, though, he changed. It was like he had thought to himself: “This is it?”, as though he was expecting everything to be much easier. But reality crept in, and his anxiety (present since a young age) worsened and he seemed to fall into the same depressed state as their mother did, easily triggered by noticing how unfair the world was. Nick listened to Nigel pouring his heart out late at night while he struggled through university. While Nigel was a naive romantic most of the time, he would admit that he thought there would be so much more to life. He had expected some excitement and not tedious repetition. 

_ “We have to do the same thing until we die? What’s the point of that?”  _

And Nick didn’t know how to answer. Especially at such a young age, Nick always thought that he had to get through the day to make it to the next because Nigel depended on him for that. Nick was living and working for Nigel, but Nigel didn’t even want to keep going for himself. Nick suspected (with a sick, sinking feeling at 1 am while Nigel crammed for final exams) that if Nigel were not so curious of what was going to come next for them, then maybe he wouldn’t stick around to find out. 

Nick and Bea decided to get married a few days later. It was partially because they didn’t want to wait for an actual marriage and partially because Nigel had been refusing meals and sleeping for hours on end in the middle of the day. Gaining a sister and seeing Nick and Bea elope pulled him around for a little bit. 

“I love you,” Nick said. 

He reached out tentatively and dragged his fingers through wet curls. Nigel barely turned to face him. 

“I love you, too.”

Nick dropped his hand in his lap. Nigel put his scone back on his plate. 

“I have good news,” he said. 

“What?”

“You know the parties that the producers have every year?”

“The ones no one ever gets invited to unless they’re stuck up snobs?”

“Yeah.”

“What about them?”

Nick smiled. Nigel’s eyes widened.

“What?! Why were we invited?” 

Nigel’s voice lacked the proper enthusiasm, but his eyes almost made up for it.

“I don’t know!” Nick said. “But we’ll take it.”

“Oh my god... Oh my god. When is it?”

“This weekend.”

“Oh my god.”

“I know.”

“Oh my god!”

* * *

 

Will pressed his forehead into the wall beside Richard’s room. He knew better than to eavesdrop, but he couldn’t pull himself away from the conversation. With every minute it dug deeper into his chest, tugging at his heart and twisting his stomach. 

“I don’t understand why he doesn’t trust me,” Richard said. 

There was a response from the other end of the phone, and Joan’s voice filled the room through the speaker.

“I don’t think it’s you he doesn’t trust. It’s like when we were kids, you know? And he was always  _ super  _ protective of us wherever we went. He never thought mom and dad cared enough”

“Yeah.”

“And… I’m not defending him for this. I think it’s bullshit that he’s not letting you see this guy. But, I mean… it’s just how he is. He’s always been like this. He’s kept me from seeing guys in school.”

“That was school. I’m an adult.”

“I know.”

“And he always treats me like a kid. He thinks I don’t know what I’m doing. If I need him, I’ll go to him. But he needs to back off.”

“He doesn’t think you’ll go to him, though. I’ve talked to him about this before, and face it, bro, you’re the stubborn one of the family.”

Richard hummed. Will smiled a little. Richard really was stubborn. He always was. 

“He’s not doing a great job at making a welcome environment,” Richard said.

“Yeah… I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s been pretty shitty to you.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Not recently. He’s talked to Gil, though. I can have him call you.”

“Maybe Gil can talk to Will for me.”

“I don’t know. Gil is like… Gil is more accepting of Will’s ideas, you know?”

Will nodded. He was closer to Gilbert than he was to any of the others. Maybe it was because Will never had to parent him. 

“Gil won’t do much,” Joan went on. “He’ll listen to you, but he won’t do anything. He’ll just say ‘Will knows what’s best for you, kiddo,” and go back to whatever he does. Trust me. Gil doesn’t like intercepting Will’s parenting.”

“He’s not our goddamn parent!”

Will bit his lip. He never tried to be a parent. He just wanted to step in and help. He didn’t want the kids growing up without attention. 

“Ritch, listen. Mom and dad had their hands full. Will was told to help out. He did what he could, and he still wants to look out for us.”

“You’re defending him!”

“I am not. I’m just saying… what would it be like if Will was never there for us, huh? He wouldn’t be there to help with homework and make dinner some nights. You remember how bad Ed would get? Will was the only one who thought to research autism. That’s why he was the only one who could get him settled down.”

“This isn’t about Ed, though. Ed likes having Will hang around.”

“Because Ed needs him, okay? No one else understood him. And that’s pretty awesome. If you have a problem with Will treating you like a kid, try talking to him.”

“I did.”

“Did you really?”

“Yes!”

“Ritchie… I’ll talk to him tonight, okay?”

Will thought about Joan’s soft, dark hair under his chin every time they hugged. She was so small, and he loved hugging her. It was like he could protect her from all the bad in the world if he just kept her in his arms. 

“Okay.”

“I can’t make any promises. But maybe I can get him to go easier on you.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Just try not to fight with him, okay? We’re all worried about him here. We’re convinced he’s going to keel over any minute.”

Richard laughed a little. “Same. He drinks more than he should and doesn’t sleep.”

“We’ll all have an intervention later. I’ll talk to you later, bro.”

“Alright. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Will heard the line go dead. He turned around and walked back down the hall, his feet carrying him slowly to his own room.

Their relationship was beyond apologies. They would therapy and a time machine to repair the damage Will had caused. 

He just wished Richard understood where he was coming from. Nick was awful. There was not a doubt in Will’s body of that. Somehow, after all their fights, Will would be the bad guy to Nick. Will would just try handling business, and Nick would find something wrong with that he was doing. Will just  _ had  _ to be wrong. He just  _ had  _ to be the bad guy. Nick was set on hating him from the moment they met. And, not surprisingly, Will was the successful one once they parted ways. He hoped that Nick always had a burning thought in the back of his head that maybe--just maybe--Will had been right all along. And he hoped that that thought and Will’s continuing success kept him up at night.

Nick’s misery was the only thing that could soothe Will’s lingering hatred towards him. And he couldn’t handle his brother dating the brother of the man he wanted to rot in hell. And he was sure Nick didn’t want his brother dating the brother of the man he wanted to rot in hell. 

It would be terrible for family get-togethers. And for publicity.    


* * *

 

Richard looked up just in time to watch Will’s pasta fall from his fork and back to his plate. He laughed as Will closed his mouth and looked at his meal like it had personally offended him. 

“Nice,” Richard said. 

Will’s phone began ringing. He gave Richard a dirty look while he answered. 

“Hello? Oh, it’s my sister, who  _ doesn’t  _ laugh at me over lunch.”

Richard heard a tone of confusion on the other end. He smirked and wondered if it’d be crossing a line to tell the world about it through Will’s Twitter account (that he had yet to learn about). He already had over a million followers, and Richard was sure they’d like the first tweet to be from the little brother and saying “The Great William Shakespeare can write hit after hit, but he struggles eating pasta.” Or however much Richard could fit in. Then, he’d start a thread, explaining the short pasta disaster. 

Will ruffled Richard’s hair as he walked out of the room. Richard dipped his head and pulled out his own phone. He made sure he could hear the door to Will’s office close before opening his email and finding the draft he had been typing earlier. 

_ My brother, Will, and I are very thrilled to have been invited to your banquet party. Will told me that I could ask you for any favor regarding the business of his newest show. As his show is starting to tie up all the loose ends, I cannot think of any favors to ask for ourselves.  _

_ However, I do know of two playwrights who may be in need of a favor and would benefit greatly from being added to the guest list. Their names are Nick and Nigel Bottom. They are friends of mine, and Will and I would be very pleased if you could offer an invitation to them.  _

Richard read the email over and over. It had to be perfect and professional. Unfortunately, Will was the one who was good with words. Richard shook his head, though, and signed his name with a silent prayer. 

It was nerve-wracking. He had weighed the pros and cons after Will told him about the party for playwrights and theatre troupes. The best case scenario would be that he could seek Nigel out at the party and explain everything and get some sort of communication re-established. Worse case scenario, Will would see Nigel before him and make a scene at the most important banquet of the year -- party of the year.

It was technically a banquet, but Will had said that it was just to make it look fancy on invitations. He said that everyone would be drunk in their formal wear, music would be playing, and any speeches given that night would be slurred and posted online for the world to enjoy the next day (there was one of himself that Richard remembered seeing everywhere after Will giggled through a shockingly innocent speech and won the Internet’s heart). It wasn’t a secret to anyone that the banquet was really just a place for theatre people to have a good time and rub elbows while the producer got to keep his name in everyone’s mouths for another year. Will seemed excited for it. He always looked forward to big parties where he would definitely be the center of attention and get drunk and seem much more lively than he really was.

Richard deserved a reason to be excited for the party, too. 


End file.
